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notarmedandnotdangerous · 4 days ago

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+18 mdni! faux innocence; a fic where you're the newest member of the thunderbolts*, and bucky tries to bed you the entire week, thinking you were a virgin. boy, was he so wrong.

cw: faux innocent!dom!m!reader, sub!bucky, reader acts like he's oblivious, reader is so fucking condescending, rough (?) sex, fingering, slight overstimulation, use of toys (fleshlight), missionary/mating press, slight stomach bulge, bucky has a size kink, creampie reader is quite controlling, attempted edging (?)

word count: >5k

[1] [2]

!! @swiftie-fault

a/n: everyone's begging so its out early HAHA also bucky gets fucking whiplash from your tone change and its hilarious anyways this is filthy

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the next day, you woke up early. you hummed under your breath as you pulled the vinyl record from the turntable, careful not to leave fingerprints on the edges. the sleeves are laid out on your carpet in neat rows, while you flipped through them slowly, fingers trailing over the worn cardboard corners like you’re picking out wine for a quiet night in. you were calm.

but bucky wasn’t.

he barged into your room, jaw clenched, and looking wired, like he hadn’t slept. he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands near the doorway as if he was trying to figure out which version of you he was talking to.

you glance up at him, smiling softly.

“hey. morning, sergeant.”

that’s what breaks him.

“you think you’re funny?”

“depends who’s laughing. what are you talking about?”

“cut the shit.”

“..sorry?” you blink innocently.

bucky storms forward, fast. he stops a few feet away from you, like he’d get burned if he stood too close.

“you’ve been pretending all week.”

“pretending?”

“yes, don’t do..” he gestured at you. “that.”

“do what?” you acted confused.

“i’ve been throwing myself at you all fucking week.” his voice was so low it almost came out as a growl.

you tilted your head, and slowly set the vinyl down beside the others.

“i flirted with you, touched you, and you didn’t even flinch, just smiled like i was cute!” he cuts himself off, breath shaky.

“i thought we were just getting along.”

“bullshit.” bucky scoffs.

“you’re a touchy guy, i figured you were.. affectionate.” you gave a helpless shrug.

he groaned.

“you’re really mad about being friendly?” you raised your eyebrows.

“and last night, you said all that like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the filthiest fucking thing anyone’s ever said to me! now you’re in here listening to records like you didn’t just fry my fucking brain?” he sputtered.

you blink slowly.

“did i?”

“yes! for fuck’s sake, you whispered it like you were reading me a fucking bedtime story!”

“must’ve had a few drinks.” you hummed.

“don’t do that. don’t fucking gaslight me.”

“wow, big word. is that what i’m doing?” you offered a faint smile, grabbing the back of your neck with your hand.

“you’re not innocent, i see you.” bucky ran a hand through his hair. “you knew the whole damn time.”

“i.. was being polite?”

“polite? polite?! you told me i’d be begging you for more, and acted like nothing happened the moment yelena came back!”

you were quiet. then finally, you sigh, a soft little surrender.

“..worth a try.” you press your fingers to your temples.

bucky goes still.

“what..?”

“playing dumb. you were enjoying it so much.” you cross the room slow, getting closer towards him. “i thought i’d let you have your fun, let you think you were in charge.” you stop in front of him.

he blinks.

“i wanted to see how far you’d go before you snapped.” you sighed. “guess we hit that point, huh?”

bucky was silent, and his hands were shaking. his whole face was flushed, not from rage, but from the slow realisation that he wasn’t the one in charge.

“you-” he took in a deep breath. “what the fuck are you?”

“not as sweet as you thought.” you smiled.

he looks at you as if he had just seen a ghost, or something far worse than that, something that sees everything, and stays quiet until it’s ready to pounce.

“you’re not mad because i didn’t notice, you’re mad because i did.”

bucky didn’t respond, he didn’t know how to.

you leaned in slightly, and whispered.

“still want to be on top, sergeant?” you winked.

the question hangs between the both of you.

bucky blinks like he didn’t hear you right. then, something shifts behind his eyes. his spine straightens, his jaw clenches, and he steps forward.

“you talk big for someone who’s been playing dumb all week.” he leans down slow, crowding into your personal space. his palm brushes your side, thumb dragging along your waist like he means to take the lead. “careful. keep talking like that, and i might show you what i can actually do.”

you smile, small, barely-there. then your hand slides between the both of you. you hook your fingers into his belt loops, and yank him in tight.

his breath stutters.

“you really want to see what happens when i stop holding back?”

bucky tried to not show it, he really did. but the way his lips parted, the way his pupils were blown wide betrayed him completely.

“you think i didn’t notice how you stared every time i rolled my sleeves up? how you somehow always manage to position yourself behind me every time i bent over slightly?” you spoke, hand curling gently around the back of his neck, letting your lips ghost over his pulse point. you could feel his heartbeat spike, it was adorable. “you thought i was sweet.” you drag your teeth against his neck, and his knees almost buckled right there, and then.

“you’re not as scary as you think you are-” he tries to play it cool.

“aren’t i?” you hum. you back him up against the wall, then slotted your thigh in between his, just enough to feel the ‘problem’ growing.

bucky’s fingers grip your bicep like he’s not sure whether he’s trying to steady you, or himself.

“you wanted control? then take it, sergeant.” you leaned in. “come on, show me. do something brave.”

he doesn’t do anything, because he can’t. he’s blinking fast now, lips parted, chest rising, and falling a little too quick. there was fear in his expression, not real fear, but wide-eyed panic, the kind that hits when you poke the bear, and it bares its teeth instead of running.

you lean back just to let him breathe.

”didn’t expect me to be a fucking freak, did you? thought i’d be easy?”

bucky’s lips part, but there wasn’t any sound.

“poor thing.” you grinned. then you leaned in, and kissed him, slow, and gentle. your lips pressed against his, just once.

but after a minute, he pulls back, clearly frustrated.

“stop that. stop holding back.” he whispers.

you blink.

“i want you, the real you. not whatever sweet little version of yourself you think i can handle.”

“you sure?”

“for fuck’s sake, yes.”

something shifts behind your gaze, it’s subtle, but he feels it.

the next kiss you give bucky was rougher, messier, more teeth than tongue. your hand tightens on his hips, while the other trails down to his thigh, and grips. you walked him backward, slowly, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of your bed, and he dropped without thinking.

“spread your legs, bucky.”

and he does, instinctively.

you climbed onto the bed to settle between them, and kiss down his jaw, stopping to nibble below his ear.

“you want the real me? the part of me that doesn’t pretend to be gentle?” you bit into his neck, sucked a dark mark right into his collarbones, and he gasps. “then shut up, and take what you asked for. don’t whine now.”

you push him back, so that he was laid back against the pillows. your hand slips under his shirt, and you drag your nails across his stomach.

the moment your nails bit into the skin of bucky’s stomach, he moans. he tried to cover his mouth with the back of his hand, and failed miserably.

“that all it takes?” you hum, pulling off his shirt. then you kiss down to his chest, and he’s panting now.

he swears he’s feeling a little dizzy.

“is this what you wanted?”

“yes, fuck, yes.”

you gripped his thigh, hard, and he mewls.

“still think i’m soft?”

bucky’s breath hitches. he tries to respond, but couldn’t.

you press your hand against his cock through his sweats, only to find out that he’s rock hard.

he whines at the contact when you drag your palm slowly over him.

“i tried to be gentle,” you murmur. “tried to give you time, but you wanted this.”

“i-i didn’t think it’d be like this-” he murmurs breathlessly.

you hummed, dragging your fingers up his ribs.

“too much?”

“no- fuck no. just didn’t think i’d be this into it.”

“that’s because you had no idea what i was.” you shrug. “you do now.”

your mouth was everywhere, on his neck, ribs, hipbones. you were marking him up like it’s your name he should wear on his dog tags.

bucky’s trembling beneath you, the band of his sweatpants shoved down just enough to give you access to everything you need.

you hadn’t even fucked him yet, and he already looks ruined.

“god, your mouth..” he gasps, fingers tightening in the sheets.

“told you. i gave you every chance to run, but you chose to stay. that’s on you.”

“should’ve- fuck, should’ve done this sooner-”

“oh?” you curled your hand around his cock, slow, and tight. fuck, they were huge.

bucky’s entire body arches at that, and you bit gently at his nipple just to feel him twitch again.

“you asked for me to stop pretending, and i’m not planning on disappointing you.”

he gasped.

you glanced down, and hummed.

“oh, look how small you are in my hand.”

bucky lets out a strangled little whine, soft, and involuntary. his thighs tensed where they were spread, trembling just slightly. his head lolls to the side, eyes fixed on the wall like it might save him.

“aw. whats wrong?” you cooed. “thought you were big, thought you could take it.”

he shook his head frantically.

“i can. fuck, i-”

“then look. eyes on me.”

“don’t make me- please.” his voice was shredded.

you tighten your grip slightly, just enough to make him hiss.

“look.”

he doesn’t.

“i said, look.” you leaned in, and whispered.

something in your tone cut through bucky like a wire snapping, and his gaze flicks down.

big mistake.

instantly, his whole body jolts. a broken moan tumbles out of his mouth, and his thighs jerk to close, but your knees press firm against his spread thighs, keeping him open. he stares, and sees the obscene contrast of your hand around him, your palm swallowing the base, your thumb dragging slow over the tip.

it doesn’t make sense. bucky wasn’t small. he’s not.

he knows what he’s working with, he always had. enough past partners, mostly from the 40’s, have moaned about it, there were enough ego-boosts, casual brags, and certainty.

but the moment your hand wrapped around him? suddenly all of that didn’t matter.

“fuck- fuck. please, i’ll cum- don’t..”

you hum.

“already?”

bucky let out another whimper, teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. his hands were fisting the sheets under him, his hips kept twitching up like they wanted it.

you stroked him with a steady rhythm, firm, practiced.

he moans, and tries to rut into your fist.

you pinned his hip down with one hand, and continued, thumb dragging over the tip, smearing pre-cum all over it.

“going to cum already?”

“no- fuck, maybe-”

you let go, and he whines, entire body jolting forward.

“too soon, you’re not ready.”

“please, please- i’ve been so good-”

“you’ve been a menace all fucking week, bucky.” you kissed his neck. “throwing yourself at me like a slut. what happened to all that confidence, hm?”

bucky shudders when you say his name.

you kiss your way down to his stomach, then lick a stripe up his cock, and he lets out the most pathetic noise.

“thought i was the sub, hm?” you murmur. “remember that?”

he nods, completely dazed, and drunk on the shame.

you wrapped your mouth around his cock, taking your time. you gave him slow sucks, deliberate swirls of your tongue, holding him down when he tries to thrust.

“fuck- please, i-” bucky’s loud now. he was a complete mess, gasping, and twisting the sheets as he writhes under you.

you pull off, letting a line of spit connect the tip of his cock to your lips.

“not yet.”

bucky almost sobs.

you press a kiss to his inner thigh, letting your teeth graze against the tender skin.

“you’re shaking.”

“you’re insane.” he breathes.

you chuckled, taking off your sweats before crawling back up again, and pinned his wrists above his head.

“can’t tap out now, you asked for this.” you press your cock in between his cheeks, just the weight of it, and he freezes.

‘oh my fuck.’

‘there’s no way that’s fitting inside me.’

that’s all he could think about, because you’re so fucking thick. you haven’t even pushed in yet, you’re just there, teasing him.

you reach down between the both of your bodies, and stroke yourself slowly against him, base to tip, dragging the full weight of it across his cheeks.

bucky gasps every single time, thighs twitching wider like his body was trying to take more without thinking.

“you couldn’t even handle my hand on your cock, what do you think this is going to do to you, sweetheart?” you press closer, cock sliding against him again, and his back arches.

then you shift, and he sees it.

his breath caught.

he wasn’t prepared. he thought he was, he thought he had some idea, but he didn’t.

‘fuck. i’m not walking tomorrow.’

what’s worse was that he didn’t care. not if it meant he got to feel you from the inside.

he knows he’s finished.

“relax, need to open you up properly.”

bucky tried, he really did. but your fingers were big, not painful, not even rough, just wide, and insistent.

you pushed in slowly, letting him adjust, murmuring praise in his ear while his body fought to loosen up. you pressed in one finger, then two, crooking them just right against his sweet spot.

“shit- fuck, i-” his head dropped back before he could even continue his sentence.

“i know, it’s a stretch isn't it?” you kissed his cheek. “have to get you ready, can’t ruin you too fast.”

bucky let out the most broken sound, because he knows he’s not ready. he’s clenching down, fluttering, and drooling around your fingers, but you’re still gentle, still preparing him like he’s fragile, like it wasn’t already too much for him.

“bet you’ve never taken something like this before, hm?” you whispered.your cock pressed against the slick mess your fingers were making. you weren’t even inside him yet, but it was enough to make him cry.

god, bucky wanted it so bad. he wanted to be stretched open, folded in half, filled to the brim, all while you murmured filth in his ear. he was bent open, and trembling. his legs wide, muscles taut, hole stretched from your fingers, but not ready. he never could be, not for this.

you lined yourself up, press the tip of your cock against him, he jerks, whimpering before you’re even inside.

“shh, you’re doing so good.” you murmured sweetly, like you’re not about to break him. “look at you, so soft, so obedient. you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

he moans, high, and wrecked. you had him in missionary, so he’s gripping your shoulders like it’ll help.

“you’re so fucking tight, gripping me already, and i’m not even in yet.” you chuckled, pressing in slowly, but not gentle, just enough that bucky feels the push, the stretch, every inch of you as you force your way inside.

“fuck- so.. b-big- nnh..”

you don’t stop talking though.

“mm, fuck. feel that? that’s just the tip, sweetheart. still so much left to go. going to be a good boy, and take it for me?”

he whines, tries to speak, and fails.

“that’s it, breathe for me. let me stretch you out, fuck. you were made for this.” you sink in deeper.

and bucky fucking breaks. he clenches around you, and you choke.

“oh you like that, don’t you?” you sneer. “filthy little thing. bet you’d take anything i give you. you wouldn’t even think twice.”

his hands scramble for something, anything. his mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“yeah, that’s what i thought. just a hole to be filled, you were fucking made for this.” you’re halfway in, and he’s already drooling.

he’s blinking up at you like he’s not sure where he is anymore. all you did was smile at him.

“there we go. come on, sweetheart, take all of me. thought you could handle it, remember?” you continued, reaching deeper inside him, and he wails. “look at that, can’t even answer me, can you? poor thing, too full to think, can’t even understand what i’m saying to you.”

it’s true, bucky can’t comprehend a single word. every word you say blurs into the static. all he can feel is you, pressing in deeper, and deeper. his hole’s fluttering, stretched obscenely around your cock, and his own cock is leaking pathetically against his stomach, untouched.

“aw, dumb already? i haven’t even fucked you yet.” you sigh.

“fuck, i- oh my god-” he moans, helplessly, and your smile turns wicked.

“that’s my good boy. all full, all dumb, just the way i like you.”

his legs try to close around you, but you don’t let him.

you press forward again, finally bottoming out.

bucky screams. his thighs shake violently, and his head drops back. his jaw slack, mouth open like he’s trying to breathe, but can’t. his hands scrambled to hold onto your bicep, trying to ground himself.

“oh sweetheart, you should’ve seen your face.” you haven’t moved yet, and he’s already trembling like he’s going to cum. his hands gripped at your biceps, stomach flipping from the stretch, cock drooling against his own belly without a single touch. he feels you everywhere. inside him, against him, holding him down.

and then, you thrust. once, deep, slow enough to feel, and he breaks.

bucky’s body jerks, his mouth opens wide in a silent sob, and then he cums. without a single touch to his cock, just from the feeling of you filling him, and the sound of your voice as you drag it out of him.

“aw, didn’t even last a single thrust?” you whisper, tone thick with mock-pity. “squirted all over yourself.”

“i-i didn’t mean to- fuck, i just- aah..” he moans, wrecked, and helpless.

“fucking mess already.” you coo. “i was thinking about being nice, taking it slow, but clearly your body doesn’t want that.” you draw your hips back, just enough to make him clench down hard, and you felt every flutter his body gives you. “didn’t even fuck you yet. all i did was sit in your sloppy hole, and you soaked my cock like it was your fucking job.”

bucky whines, his mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. before he could even process it, you switched tones.

“you’re doing so good, so perfect for me.”

his eyes snap open, and he stares at you, confused, like he doesn’t know what the fuck just happened.

“all dumb already?” you murmured.

“i- no, i can- just, give me a second-”

“sweetheart, your cock’s still twitching. you sure you’ve got another one in you?”

“yeah.. yeah.. plea.. mmh.. i can.. take it.”

“oh i know you can,” you leaned down, lips grazing his ear. “now we’re going to see if you should.” you bit down, hard enough to leave a mark on his neck.

oh fuck. that wrecks bucky. his entire body shudders, and his breath catches in his throat. his fists curl uselessly into the sheets, knuckles white, like he’s trying to ground himself, but there’s absolutely nothing grounding about the way you speak to him.

“i warned you, didn’t i? told you what i’d do to you.” you thrust again, harder this time.

“aah- mmh!?” he screams, his voice cracking. he was still twitching from the first orgasm, and now you’re fucking him through it.

“look at you, didn’t even need your cock touched. all it took was mine, inside you, just one push.” you laugh. “you liked it didn’t you?”

he nodded, and you softened, just a little.

“there’s my good boy, so sweet when you cum for me.” you whisper, suddenly tender.

bucky swears he got whiplash from the way your tone flipped, filthy one moment, sweet the next. he’s still panting, thighs shaking violently as you bottomed out again.

you press in deeper, hips rolling slow, drawn out.

“not so cocky now, huh?” you pull back almost all the way, and slam back in hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

“ah- fuck!”

“thought i was a bottom, didn’t you? thought i’d get all shy, and beg for your cock-” you pull out slowly, almost all the way, before slamming back in, hitting that spot inside him.

“shit- oh my god-” he gasps, legs shaking.

“but look at you. you’re the one spread out and dripping, moaning like a fucking pornstar the moment i entered you.”

“please- please..” bucky’s voice breaks, high-pitched, and needy.

“didn’t take much now, did it?” you rock in deep again, and he chokes on a sob. “didn’t think i’d be able to fuck you like this. huh? didn’t think i’d use you. you wanted someone soft you could ruin.”

he keens when you bite into his neck once more.

“breathe, sweetheart, just breathe. you’re doing so good.” your hips roll forward again, and he sobs. “god, you’re filthy, fucking yourself on my cock like it’s the only fucking thing that’s keeping you alive.”

“too m-much- ugh, so deep..”

“aw, you’re trying so hard for me, i know it’s too much.” you shush him with a kiss, before you rolled your hips again, and he moans into your mouth. “you’re perfect like this, you know that?”

bucky tries to speak, but all that comes out was a whine.

“no thoughts left in that pretty head, hm?” then you’re rough again, pulling his hips forward to meet your thrusts, letting him feel just how deep you are. “fucking cockdrunk already, and i’m not even halfway done.”

“please- oh my god- fuck!” he moans, and your hand slides down to wrap around his untouched cock.

you glance down, and pause. your gaze catches on the slight bulge on his lower stomach, twitching with each thrust you give him.

“oh.. look at that.”

bucky doesn’t register it at first, he’s too far gone.

so you shift your weight, thrust in deeper, and rested your palm on his lower stomach, and he barely notices.

until he looks.

“what are you-”

until he sees your hand, palm spread wide, fingers splayed over the slight bulge jutting up.

“oh my god-” his stomach twitches, and his head snaps back against the pillow.

“you didn’t notice before?”

“it’s not- fuck, i didn’t-”

“shh, it’s okay. that’s just me, sweetheart, all the way inside.” you press down slowly, and the bulge pulses beneath your hand. “so deep inside you, i can feel you from the outside. poor baby, no wonder you’re crying.”

“no- i don’t- fuck, i don’t like-” he tries to breathe through it, but a full body shudder rolls through him.

“oh, you love it.” you move your hips just slightly, grinding in deeper, and that bulge shifts underneath your palm. “you’re being shy, sweetheart. thought you liked how it feels?”

bucky whimpers in denial, shaking his head, and biting his lip like that’ll stop the sounds coming out of him.

“shh, i know it’s too much. you wanted it though, remember? all week?”

“n-no- don’t say it.”

you sigh, and reach for his hand, then guide it down.

“here. feel that?” you guided his palm over the thick shape stretching him open.

and that’s all it takes. bucky fucking chokes on it.

“ah- fuck- fuck! i-” his body spasms, and his legs kick weakly. his cock pulses untouched between the both of you, cum spilling over his stomach. he whines, high, and shattered, eyes rolling back as he cums the hardest he ever has in his life.

“did you just cum from that?” you drag your hips back slow, and grinded back in deep.

“too much- it’s- fuck! ..too much.”

“aw, but i’m still hard.” you said sweetly, kissing his cheek. “going to keep pressing right here, until i cum too.” your fingers stroke gently over the slight bulge in his stomach. “you can take it right? you already made a mess, might as well be useful.”

bucky whimpers, his fingers clutching helplessly at the sheets, and then you start to move. his back arches at the first thrust, helplessly.

“n-no, i- ah- wait, wait!”

you slow, just barely, hips grinding in deep as your hand trails over his flushed chest. you lean over him, nose brushing against his cheek.

“can you take it or not, sweetheart?”

“y-yeah, yes. i can.”

“oh you’re going to wish you shut your mouth.” you pressed his knees up to his chest, practically putting him in a mating press.

“no wait-”

you cup the underside of his thigh, holding him open, and slide in deeper than before.

bucky chokes on a sob, and his back arches clean off the bed.

“now shut the fuck up, and take it.” you thrusted, and he wails. his heel dug into your side as he tries to pull away. “nowhere to go, sweetheart. you wanted this, don’t go quiet on me now.” another thrust.

his head lolls to the side, dazed, and jaw slack, drool glistening at the corner of his lips.

you hum softly, pressing your hand around his throat, and tightening. you tilt his face towards yours, pressing your thumb just beneath his jaw.

“sweetheart, look at me.” you slowed, just for him to look at you.

and bucky, the poor thing, he tries. his teary eyes flutter open, and he meets your gaze.

you kissed his cheek softly, before your hips snapped forward, deep, and your voice dipped.

“that’s it. there’s my pretty boy. want to see the exact moment you realise no one else is ever going to fuck you like this.” you growled.

he whines again, half-apology, half-desperation.

your rhythm shifts, just a little faster, and harder, fucking into him with purpose now. you wrapped your hand tighter around his throat now, just enough to make him gasp, just enough to feel the way he flutters around you.

“there we go, knew you’d squeeze me just right if i did this.” your grip tightens just a little more, and he clamps down on your cock so perfectly you groaned. “fuck- yeah, mm. that’s it. going to wring it out of me, sweetheart?”

bucky whines beneath you, lips parted in a broken sound you don’t think he meant to make.

you lean in, voice syrupy-sweet, and smug.

“keep doing that- fuck, and i’m going to cum in your messy little hole. that what you want?”

he nods, frantic, and helpless. he tries to warn you, but he cums before he even could.

you rail him, just a little harder, dragging it out as your grip stays firm on his throat. and when you finally cum, it’s with a low growl into his ear. you stayed inside him, breathing hard against his cheek, but still so composed, compared to the wreck underneath you.

bucky’s trembling, thigh shaking where it’s pressed up against his chest. his eyes are fluttering, unfocused, barely able to look at you.

your hand eases off his throat a little.

“you okay, sweetheart?” you whispered, your cock still twitching inside him.

he whines, wordless.

“you did so well, took all of me, fucked yourself dumb, didn’t you?” you shifted, just enough for him to feel it. “shh, i know, i know. sensitive now, huh?” you rock in a little, and he gasps like you had electrocuted him. you’re still pressed so deep he can feel you.

you finally pull out, and he whimper. you hum low, dragging your palm down the inside of his thigh, where your cum was dripping out of him in lazy, thick streaks.

“so? what are you going to do to thank me? still need to finish properly.”

“didn’t you..?”

“came? sure, but i’m still hard, sweetheart.”

bucky blinks up at you, but his brain is still working, somehow. he pushes himself up a little, and reaches over to the nightstand, he opened your drawer, and pulled out a fleshlight.

“how did you..?” you gasped when he just casually pulled out your fleshlight from your drawer. how did he even know it was there?

he didn’t respond, just pushed the toy down over your cock, twisting a little, and you hissed.

“just like that- fuck, ahh.. good boy.”

he whines, then moves his hand faster.

“want to make me cum- mmh, so quick, d-don’t you?”

he nods.

and you do. within a few minutes, you’re spilling into the toy with a thick groan, shuddering through it. you’re still buried in the haze of your orgasm, when he shifts again. you don’t stop him at first. the second the slick, still-warm toy wrapped around your oversensitive cock, your whole body flinches.

bucky smirks, and he rocks the toy so fucking slowly while watching you closely.

“sweetheart.”

“mm?”

you groaned, trying to ground yourself.

“i-i.. fuck..”

he pulls the toy off right before you tip.

“oops.”

“bucky.”

“yeah?”

“keep edging me, and i’ll make you cum untouched for a week straight.”

bucky shudders visibly, but the bastard does it again anyway.

“let me make this simple for you.” you wrap your hand over his, and force the it back over your cock.

“wha- what- what are we-” his eyes go wide when he sees the way your hips stutter. there wasn’t any more teasing, just slick, obscene sounds while you did what he couldn’t.

you guide his hand rhythmically, and you keep going, faster now. when you came, you grinded your hips up into it, and moaned, low, and fed the fuck up. you breathe hard through your nose, and then you sigh, like this whole thing was an inconvenience.

“see? didn’t need your help.”

bucky just stared dumbly at your cock.

“next time,” you murmur against his cheek. “you keep edging me like that, and i’ll fuck your throat raw instead.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x male reader #x male reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #bottom bucky barnes #sub bucky barnes #top male reader #dom male reader #buckfics

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stars-inthe-sky · 1 month ago

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if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah. I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

#911 #911 tv #911 abc #911abc #911 fic #911 show #bucktommy #911 bucktommy #buck x tommy #buck/tommy #this fic brought to you by the time my now-spouse and i went to the canyonlands in january and didn't see another human all day #and danny concannon's intonation on 'i want us to talk like we're gonna figure it out together'#and also tommy's emotional support rag #author knows nothing about car maintenance or lafd leave policies *and* heroically resisted the urge to fall down a google rabbit hole #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#for real though it's been half a decade how do you tag for visibility in a huge-ass fandom with multiple stylings?#on a website where the tag system has never accommodated hyphens very well?#anyway i wrote a fic for the first time in half a decade! please clap.

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internetdaddy98 · 2 months ago

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Checkmate

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: The aftermath of the kiss simmers beneath the surface of the ER like a live wire, crackling just out of sight. Dr. Robby and Dr. Sheridan haven’t spoken since the night in the alley, but the silence between them is deafening. Word Count: 1.4 K Content Warning: 18+ MDNI, Explicit Content, Explicit Language, Medical procedures, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

There was an unspoken charge in the air that made everyone sharper, edgier, like a thunderstorm was coiled somewhere in the hallways. And at the center of it were Dr. Sheridan and Dr. Robby, both too quiet, too stiff, and too carefully avoiding each other’s eyes.

They hadn’t spoken since the alleyway.

Since the kiss.

Since the pull of years of restraint finally snapped and Robby had pushed you away, not because he didn’t want you, but because he did.

Now, under the clinical glare of the ER, everything they hadn’t said the night before was screaming in the space between them.

You stood at the workstation, hoodie off, stethoscope looped around your neck, typing through a patient chart. Calm. Focused. Barely a flicker of emotion on your face.

Robby walked past you to grab a tablet, not meeting your eyes.

Dana noticed it before lunch.

She was many things, charge nurse, ER gatekeeper, queen of organized chaos, but above all, Dana was observant. She noticed the way Robby’s voice dropped a degree colder when he addressed you that morning. She noticed the micro-expressions that flickered across your face whenever he gave an order, a clench of your jaw, a tightness in your posture.

And she noticed Robby, usually steady, controlled, slow to anger, snapping at interns and pacing like a caged animal.

At noon, she cornered Langdon.

“Something’s up with those two,” she muttered. Langdon raised a brow. “You think they finally—”

“I don’t know what they did,” Dana said, folding her arms. “But if they keep this up, someone’s going to bleed.”

She wasn’t wrong.

The trauma bay doors flung open, a GSW to the abdomen, male, 20s, hypotensive, intubated in the field. The trauma team mobilized fast. Robby took the lead, you beside him, Santos and Whittaker flanking.

“Prep for laparotomy,” Robby snapped. “He’s actively bleeding out.”

“He’s stable enough for CT,” you pushed, already reviewing vitals. “We need imaging, if we open him without knowing the path, we might waste time.”

“We don’t have time.”

“You’re not listening”

“I said we’re doing the laparotomy,” Robby barked, eyes sharp. His voice cracked across the trauma bay like thunder, silencing everyone in earshot.

You stepped back, stunned silent for a breath.

The patient’s blood dripped onto the floor. Nurses moved faster. Santos shot you a side glance that said do not escalate this here. And you, with your heart hammering, clenched your jaw and stepped back, swallowing the fury that rose like bile in your throat.

It wasn’t about the patient. Not entirely.

It was about you.

About what had happened. About what they’d let happen.

About everything he was trying not to feel. By the end of the shift, you were suffocating. You hadn’t eaten. You hadn’t breathed. You were sick of pretending you were fine.

He waited for you near the ambulance bay, leaning against his car like a shadow waiting to snatch you. You barely had time to process it before Robby caught you by the sleeve just outside his car.

He didn’t blink. “We need to talk. Get in the car.”

You stared at him, arms crossed, defiant. “I don’t take orders off shift.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The car ride was unbearable.

The tension was a noose. His hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly. Your arms were crossed, gaze fixed out the window. Not even the radio dared to play. For ten full minutes, nothing was said. Only the hum of the tires on wet asphalt and the storm churning between them. You sat beside him, arms folded, heart hammering. The air between you was too quiet, too dense. You could feel him there, the nearness of him, the warmth radiating off his body. It burned.

You finally exhaled. “Are you going to pretend forever that nothing happened?”

Robby pulled the car down and parked in the alleyway of a closed flower shop. The street was empty. The only sound was the ticking of the engine.

“I’ve spent three years telling myself I’m your mentor. Your advocate. Someone who’s supposed to keep you safe. And then I—” he stopped, exhaled, ran a hand through his hair. “And then I kissed you like I’ve wanted to do for the past goddamn year.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “So what now? You push me away again? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I’m trying to protect you from me.”

“Well, don’t,” you said softly. “Because it’s too late.”

You leaned toward him, voice low. “You think I don’t know? That you look at me like I’m some innocent thing you want to break?”

He swallowed hard.

“You already did,” you whispered. “And I’d let you do it again.”

He leaned into you like a magnet being called home. Your mouths met with bruising force, years of restraint shattering. His hands tangled in your hair, yours clawed at his hoodie. The windows fogged. His breath was ragged against your skin. You gasped when he kissed the space just beneath your ear, and he moaned your name like it was a confession.

Your hand curled around the back of his neck, tugging him to your mouth again. The kiss was messy this time, desperate. His hands found your hips, dragged you across the console like he needed you there, like he couldn’t breathe unless you were closer.

Your mouths moved in sync, raw and full of hunger. You moaned into his mouth when his hands slipped beneath your shirt, palms dragging up the warm skin of your back. His breath stuttered when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pants.

His mouth trailed down your neck, and you gasped. “Michael…”

The sound of your voice, his name — not Dr. Robinavitch, not Robby, but Michael, it made something break open in him.

He groaned, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath ragged. “We have to stop.”

You froze against him.

He was panting. Torn.

“If we don’t stop now, I won’t,” he said, voice gravel-thick. “And you deserve better than the front seat of my Subaru.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you breathed. “Please. Please. Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Their clothes were tugged, shifted, pulled aside in desperation. Your breath hitched when his hands slid up to cup your breasts, over your ribs, your chest. His mouth followed, teeth grazing, lips soothing. You clawed at his collar, fingers shaking. Your head fell back when he whispered your name against your throat.

When you reached down and freed him from his waistband, he groaned into your shoulder, hands trembling.

“This is insane,” he panted. “This is, fuck, Y/N—”

“I want you,” you said. “I want you,”

You guided him with a slow grind of your hips and he caught your mouth in his just as he slid inside. The sound you both made was guttural, shock and relief and need colliding all at once.

Robby held you in a tight embrace, had you constricted against him as he rocked into you, as you continued riding him. Your eyes shut and mouth open in a moan, you throw your head back to expose the long column of your throat. The windows fogged. The car rocked. Your gasps filled the small space like a secret song. He kissed you like he wanted to ruin you and worship you all at once, rough and desperate and sacred.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t pretty.

It was honest.

And when you came, buried in his shoulder, biting his neck, he followed seconds later, breaking with a sound he’d never made before. Like something inside him had finally cracked wide open.

When you finally pulled back, lips swollen, hair mussed, breath uneven, you met his gaze and asked quietly, “Now what?”

He rested his forehead against yours, breath shaky.

“Now?” he said softly.

“I try not to fall in love with you.”

Too late.

-------------------------------------------------------------------- Want to join the taglist? shoot me a comment! @rosiepoise88 @nosebeers

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twisted-wonderland-but-gayer · 2 months ago

Note

I wonder if anyone would know how to deal with an infected apocalypse Yuu?

First Years In Hell

***

This is actually something I think abt a lot. The first years in apocalypses together and shit. I actually had a weird idea on this and inspiration struck so lemme ramble. This ramble turned I to a full on fic of 4.2k words so...

Content ahead: Yuu is GN with no description, Fluff to comfort to romantic to hurt no comfort, angst ending as thats my brand, poly first years sorta (minus Ortho ofc), group make out session, alcohol, decriptions of violence Idk, Rambley because Yuu and everyone are losing their shit.

***

Imagine it. A zombie apocalypse has happened and the world seems to have collapsed much too fast for all of you.

Yet right now, at this moment, it doesn't matter.

You are all gathered around the crackling fire in front of you, having found a safe place in a dilapidated building for the night. Epel is cracking open a can of some god awful processed mush with a knife like he does his apples. Jack is ensuring the fire is fed. Your head rests on Ace's shoulder along with Deuce on the opposite side, enjoying the moment of warmth and comfort. Ortho is there in sleep mode to conserve himself...

The boy insists that he doesn't need rest and his battery can last a long time, even some of his parts that were bent and warped still functioned well enough. Deuce maintains him the best he could. You all look after the boy like he’s human, like he’s the collective little brother. His battery can last forever yet you all carry rudimentary batteries on you just in case. Perhaps too much. They may not work on him but just maybe, maybe they can also be used in an emergency, not just to charge your own devices.

Sebek, ever the stubborn, ordered Ortho to rest, and that HE will keep first guard for the night. The knight, yes you call him a knight and not some knight in training as he earned that title in everyone’s eyes, stands tall and surveys the area carefully. His was hand on the hilt of his sword ready to draw it at the drop of a single leaf. He was so… so… charming. Caring. Sweet. Though you can never say it out loud. Such cutesy terms to describe him were silly but accurate and he'd deny every one.

“Food's goin’, should be done in a minute or so. I’m gonna set some traps.” Epel got up, stirred the small cooking pot of assorted rations and then started searching in his own bag. There was a good wire and scrap in there, along with the wire saw he used to help cut down some wood. Empty aluminum cans were pulled out, along with spare wire.

”Don’t use too much.” Jack murmurs. Those cans were like gold. So much you can craft from them alone. “I know, I know ‘m just gonna set up some noise makers.” Sebek looked at him with his stern gaze. “I will watch.”

… The food smelled good for slop. Ace looked at the boiling pot, blinking a few times. “Alright I'll finish it off.” Ace sighs before Deuce pushes him back down as he tries to get up. “Nah, I got it.” Ace doesn’t argue, it's clear he’s tired from all the magic he used and Deuce wants to occupy himself. Jack watches Deuce stir the pot emptily. The wolf usually does rounds to make sure everything is in order but today he just stares out.

Perhaps it was from the conversation earlier today. When Ace mentioned he hoped his brother and his parents made it to a safehouse. Everyone was silent for a moment, letting the weight sink in, agreeing with the sentiment. You don’t know who started crying first. If it was Deuce regretting not being a good son for long for long enough. If it was Sebek's restrained breakdown to not give away your positions. If it was Ace that started it all. Maybe it was Ortho shaking in all his metal. Epel crying for his meemaw. Maybe it was you who was already so far from home when this all happened.

Jack, though clearly shaken, told everyone to pull it together. It isn't safe to cry in the wastelands. I guess right now it finally seemed to have caught up to him. Shittest vacation ever. Seriously. One trip out of NRC to have some fun as first years then this? With every means of transport and teleportation now gone? Just you dumb fucking luck. You swear you have to be cursed. Some trouble magnet with all the dumb situations you’ve been in since getting stuck in this world. It was all your fault.

”Cripes!” Deuce hissed out as some of the soup popped out and burnt him. Hah, it was funny. Even now he’s trying to clean up his act by cursing less. “Tch… Loosey Deucey over here…” Ace snickered. “Oi!” Deuce glared over at him but didn't retaliate, focusing back on the soup. Jack actually lets out a hum of amusement, spirits lifting slowly.

”Jeet?” Epel asked, walking back to the fire. “Huh?” Ace gives him an odd look. “Jeet?” “Don’t know what that means.” Epel let out a sigh, hands on his hips. “Did ya eat? The food looks done.”

”…” There were more aluminum cans in Epels bag with the tops cut off. It was what you all used to scoop up the soup that was made. Sebek filled his can quickly before turning back to guard. “… Why don’t you join us Sebek? We're still up after all.” You say to him, making him tense a bit.

”Nonsense Yuu, I must keep watch.” You let out an annoyed sigh. “Come on Sebek. Let's enjoy this moment together okay? It was a good day! Sure there were some hiccups but there were more highlights. Got more good stuff from the wandering merchants, no zombies, nice weather… And were so much closer to the outpost. We can make it tomorrow! Plus, after tonight our meals are gonna get better, we're just using up the old ones. We can actually make a proper breakfast in the morning!”

Sebek looked off. “… Please?” You just want to pretend everything is normal. That this was just another camp Vargus trip. Not some living hell. “I mean Jack will definitely hear any trouble first with those big ass ears of his.” Jack shoots you a look. Despite that, his ears wiggling told the story.

Sebek sighed, then relented, sitting down at the fire and sipping the soup. Epel hums as he slurps his can. “This is good.” You all followed, surprised at how good it is. Small conversations and stories are shared as you lean more onto Ace in exhaustion. Deuce leans into you also. Jack soon follows, resting close by, tail out in hopes to protect you three from the cold. Epel was there too. Conserving body heat. That's all you were doing. But deep inside you all knew that you all missed some sort of skinship. Sebek merely looks at the pile, then to Ortho nearby in sleep mode. He huffs, then gets up to keep guard. Right next to all of you.

The following day was a blessing. Made breakfast. Beat down one zombie with magic and it was the only you saw. You all found a spring to wash your filthy casual clothes along with the dumb NRC uniforms as well. Epel even came with his dorm uniform, Vil’s orders but like hell he’d listen to him out here. It came in clutch actually. It was cut up into an array of blankets for each of you. Light and airy yet wonderfully warm. Some scrap was used to make Ortho a small scarf.

Then there it was: the settlement you all were waiting for right in front of your eyes. Ortho was right, it was a big one. Sure, perhaps it wasn’t a safe house but it was protected well. It was an entire town, fit with shops, hotels, wifi, even entertainment. After getting checked for bites you all scurried to barter and trade with various shop owners for cash to buy a room for an Inn.

It was barely enough for one room but you’ve all had to be crammed in tighter spaces before so what does it matter. At least it was a king bed, enough for you all to fold on top of each other and pass out in. The mattress was a lumpy stiff haven. Food at the inn was cheap but you will need jobs, at least for a bit as you all figure out what to do from here.

For now, you are all able to actually use your phones. Go through old photos, videos, hell even people on magicam were active, sharing useful information for everyone. Vil was posting. Cater too, his magicam actually being a great resource for crafty survival tips. Those two were okay at least. Ortho was already cracking better numbers here.

“Mom?” Deuce held his phone to his ear as he paced around anxiously, before shouting ‘mom’ again with a tearful smile as he collapsed. “You’re still alive!” There was sniffling and weeping but everyone was happy for him. He had his moment uninterrupted.

Tomorrow the job hunt began. Sebek was easily taken in as a guard, Epel was a farmhand, Jack would deliver and unpack crates, Ortho helped with settlement planning, Ace mainly did side gigs and Deuce actually acted as security in quite a few places. You worked at the Inn you were stayed at, it lessened the rent for sure.

It was actually nice the few weeks you were there. It felt normal. Even doing the most mundane tasks you took for granted was bliss. You’d all return to your shared room as you chatted about the day, deciding what to do for dinner and who’s sleeping where this time.

Then one night, one of the best things since all of this happened. Ortho made contact with STYX. You all gathered around his projection watching with rapt attention. Idia was there. There was a sweet reunion before he started up business.

Damn near everyone at school was fine, and made it to the STYX safehouse with him. It was a relief. “Lucky assholes.” You think Ace murmured. The coordinates and map was now with you. It was a week's worth of walking away and no way are any of the vehicles here built to go far out at all.

“Maybe a blast cycle?” Deuce hums. “If you can find one that fits us all.” Jack smirked a bit at Deuce’s ‘oh right’ face. “Besides they were probably ripped apart for materials.”

”Welp,” you sigh, “We walked this far, may as well continue right?” Everyone sighed. They knew it was the only way.

Tonight called for celebration however, Ortho was out for supplies for the trip and quick repairs and said not to worry about him. To continue to celebrate. You all sat in the inn, indulging the food and music and laughter of the bards. Hooting and hollering as you make your toasts and talk about how far you all made it and how things are looking up.

Hells, there was even a tinge of alcohol involved. Just a bit, not like the others drank too much you think but you definitely had at least two of whatever the hell. You were tipsy for sure, maybe buzzed. The lively environment influenced you to. It had you giggly, your friends more so with all of their dumb jokes.

Ace was leaning next to you. Maybe he drank a bit too or you were just wobbly but you both look at each other's eyes and features. You don’t remember what you were talking about but it devolved into quiet. “… I like you Yuu, I like you a lot. I mean… You and the rest of them…” He was leaning into you now. “Are probably the greatest ones I met…” Your noses touched. “I like you too.” “Haha really? How about you prove—“

You don’t remember who initiated the kiss but you remember his soft lips and chapstick on your own. You remember Deuce standing there shocked before he was pulled in and you were all over each other and no doubt got drunker from each kiss shared. You swear you remember Sebek's flustered face and how you all trudged up the stairs aftwe r being told to go rest in your room where all of you then collapsed onto the floor. You don’t remember much about Jack and Epel but there’s fur on your shirt and Epel was on your chest as you stared up from the splintery floor you laid on.

It wasn’t brought up again. Not acknowledged. For the most part. Sometimes you would all have knowing looks in your eyes and small quiet moments between you that have you both a bit flustered when nothing even romantic is happening. Nothing happened that night. Nothing at all.

Maybe it’s because it was a lot to take in. Maybe it was too fast and confusing. Maybe you all don‘t know how to proceed. Where would you take this? How would this work? Perhaps they don't want to admit their feelings but you won’t either.

I mean it was just much needed skinship. A coping mechanism even. A way to live out all the things they may not have in the future. There will be no prom. No girlfriends or boyfriends out here in this environment. No fancy dates. No crazy but reasonably dangerous adventures. You knew a few of them dreamed of marriage, kids even, but that may never happen like this.

That was it, yeah. It was another break from reality. It was just like a movie scene of a stupid coming of age movie where the protagonist has a wild night out that shapes his life and is the beginning of a stupid adventure. It was just pretend. Business as usual. All that mattered is that you were all still a team. That all of you would go to extreme lengths to protect each other.

It’s for the better. You don’t know if you don't mind it or not. So much yet nothing changed. Everyone stays by each other's sides not out of obligation or some crazy plot but because you all care for each other.

Ortho did lecture you all about passing out on the floor. Seriously, what were you all doing? Did you really party that hard when you all have to start your walk today? At least you all made it up safe.

Perhaps drinking wasn’t the best idea. You have a minor headache now but nothing too bad. There weren’t a lot of zombies. It all felt off. You weren’t gonna look a gift mouse-horse in the magic though right? Or however that saying goes here.

The night was lovely though. Sharing stories around the fire. Remember when Epel got bit protecting Ace and everyone freaked out? Thank god catching diseases by saliva was as rare as it is. Or the time you walked past graveyards in a rush because you all didn’t trust it. How for once you all celebrated finding a dead body because it was too eaten up to turn? Having to eat bugs? Or that time where everyone was in a rough spot but we fought everyone off like a badass? Remember how grocery stores were a thing? Crazy in retrospect. Stories were shared and shared and shared until the sun rose.

For the next few days it was nonstop walking. The expedition slowed a bit. Half a week behind. It was fine though. You all were getting by great. Maybe you should have considered buying a mule. Slowly but slowly you were right there to the base. Just a few more hours away. Play it safe.

It was going well. So well. You see the shelter right there. You were saved.

A horrible gurgling was heard from the right of you from the woods. Everyone was tense and ready to fight. Your pistol ran out of ammo but you still got your blade and bow. You don't need any magic… but it would be nice.

These zombies were quick, no doubt freshly turned. They charge at an unsettling speed, janky movement making their top half flop. One down. Two down… More came out. An ambush!

Three was incinerated. Four was sliced down the middle… God it went for a bit too long but it was over. Magic is now spent and the adrenaline makes you exhausted.

It wasn't over. Of course it wasn’t over. You’re a goddamned curse. Everything goes wrong around you. It was naive of you to even think that good things happen around you. Trouble always finds you. You have a goddamned flaw on this very universe that shouldn’t even be here and the world is punishing you for it. Maybe if you just didn’t join them, they would have been safer.

The bone chilling cries of a new-risen zombie boomed much too loud. You all swallowed, backing away before you saw it. This wasn't just any mutant— it was a mage. A mage that overblotted. Their skin was pale but they looked intact for the most part. Just like a human.

Fresh zombies are always the most terrifying. Not because of the extreme strength brought on by adrenaline or that they are bullet sponges that can fight for hours. It was because the mind of the original person was still there. Their habits, their speech.

The zombie just stared, wide eyed… and their pupils dilated. The creature's rotting jaw turns upwards into a wicked smile of clacking teeth. One hand was playing with its filthy hair like it was trying to tie it back�� something no doubt the original person would have done. Their mind isn’t fully gone yet and it’s unsettling for you to see them as a person that had hopes, dreams, goals in life. What they were before…

“Hi. Hi. Hello.” it tried to speak as much as it's corrupted mind would let it

To say they charged at you was an understatement. They were the damn carriage that hit you at Mach fuck. Adrenaline is a terrifying thing. Its teeth clacked with each attempt to bite you as you managed to wrestle out from beneath it despite the lacerations you sustained. A bite from them may actually kill you.

“YUU!” Jack screamed out.

”Fuck! I can’t put them in glass, I can’t even cast it!”

There was a shriek from you as the nrw turned above you grabbed your leg so tight— too tight— the flesh is coming right off! Your cries did nothing to stop it nor did the damn knife that you sunk into its head over and over. It doesn’t budge, doesn't flinch. You're lucky to have been alive this long.

The creature was then pushed off of you— not before taking a good chunk out of your leg. Fuck it may have to be amputated— where was Epel’s wire saw again? You don’t know but it hurts and you can barely stand to help as you can only watch Jack tearing the monster apart in wolf form and Sebek trying to cut through its sick mutant neck. A panic rushed through you, Jack is using such strong magic with full blot—

”Yuu!” Epel slid over to you as did Ortho and dropped down to assess your wound. “Cmon cmon!” Epel was putting pressure on one of the punctures as Ortho scanned. “Cover us!” The card duo already were. Deuce was up close and personal with each jab, each cut that did nothing to it. Ace was crazy enough to take off his overcoat and get behind the thing to wrap it between its mouth. Helping to slow its bite speed. “C’mon Sebek, I’m gonna try to pull it back so you can dismember it!”

Fuck fuck fuck. You're a sitting duck that invited the other two to join you. It’s not worth it. “Don’t worry about me right now! Go help them take it down!” Epel looked at you as if you were crazy. “But Yuu, you’ve sustained critical blood loss!” Ortho yelped. You took in a breath, “And if they die I’ll continue to bleed out anyways— help them!”

They couldn't argue. Epel just took off his coat and handed it to you to cover your thigh. All you can do is watch. Orthos lasers were weakened, Epel’s weapon could only do so much and he was just an inch away from the thing. It’s no good. It caught you all on an unlucky day. This was it… No no no. You’re smart, you can do this. You’ve survived this long.

The tree! A thick Redwood! It looks as though the base was rotting out at a wonderful angle. Epel’s wire saw peaked out of the bag near you… You know what you have to do. No, you aren’t using the saw to cut down the tree, it would take too much time. You’re dead either way.

The monster's torn jaws are just now inches away from Sebek as it leaped forward, just to be pulled back by a wire saw around its throat. “YUU! What are you DOING?!” Sebek was yelling and so were the others. “Yuu! You only have a 2% survival rate!”

You know. You know you're dying. May as well go out like this.

The beast tries to shake you off as you direct it to face the tree with the wire around its neck like a horse with its bridle. Sebek taught you this now that you think about it. It tries to shake you off again and you allow it— backing up a good distance towards the tree in hopes it charges. Ace realizes what you are doing, then everyone else does too.

”Yuu no!” Who was it that said that? They sounded hysterical and it would be something you would totally hold over them. You can't hear them over the pounding in your head and rancid clicking of the creature. And you really can't hear them when you feel the sudden slap of the tree against your back and the beast's teeth tearing off some flesh of your stomach.

It was blurry. And painful. But the rush— oh the rush of it all was pure euphoria. Your body slipped out from the creature as it charged into the tree, tossing you to the side and allowing you to see that thing get crushed instantly. It was wiggling still, but it was trapped and that’s all it mattered. I mean look! Deuce just finished it off! Or is it Ortho? Sorry, it's just so hard to see.

A chorus of ‘Yuu’’s sang to you and your vision is obscured by shadows. You feel hands all over, pressing, holding, supporting. Someone above you put your head onto his lap. You know what it feels like. Yes, you remember that.

They’re leaning in so close. It was Deuce just right above you. You see them now. Jack’s in now in his usual form as he supports a few broken parts of your body. Orthos is trying to cauterize wounds, scanning rapidly, desperately, as Ace and Sebek and Epel all try to help. Everyone seems to be holding onto you for comfort though.

“Nonononono—“ Ace shakes and Sebek is letting out strings of ‘damn it’s fall from his mouth in anger. They’re all clinging, desperate, hoping somehow they can save you.

You know it.

They know it.

You’re not surviving this one.

“Hah… it's useless you know? I’m dying. There's nothing you can do.” It feels like you swallowed burning hot coals as you speak.

“Shut yer damn mouth you— you…” Epel was crying now.

“This can’t be happening.” Jack shakes, eye wide.

Ortho is trying to rationalize it all, blubbering any possible solution or possibility, scanning for rates over and over and over until he dissolves into sobs. “You’re DNA might have a cure— you can't die!”

“The audacity of you humans! You—- You aren't to leave us! I COMMAND you Yuu. That you ARE NOT going to succumb to this! SO DON’T ACT LIKE YOU ARE!”

Deuce choked. ”Yuu.. Please don’t.. Please don’t go. You‘re… you‘re my best friend you believed me— all of us! I can’t— I dreamed of us graduating and…”

”No. This is it. It’s over… Guys, if you need my body to sustain you—“

”Hell no! Don’t even finish that sentence!” Ace hisses. “Please… not like this..”

”Don’t worry, don’t worry… I’m at peace, truly. It was an honor to be with you all. I’m glad I’m dying with you around me, I’m even more glad you are all okay.”

”Yuu…” Deuce is leaning down trying to wipe away tears. You may as well reach up to kiss him one last time right? Your breath hitches as you do and when you pull away Deuce is shaking.

”Just promise me alright? Promise me that you will all live, not just survive, live. That you will all be kind to each other after this okay? That you will all… kick ass if you need to!” You had a much nicer thought but they were incoherent. Your mouth can't catch up to your brain. “Promise me okay?” Tears were now finally falling. “Can you just hold me a little more? Please?”

The sun is pretty. It's even nicer when you're around all your friends and being held like this. If only you could have done this back then.

“… I think I’m just gonna close my eyes and rest a bit…”

Then everything faded.

Sobs and shouts and cries was the only music played at your funeral.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #first years x reader #poly first years #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #angst #apocalypse yuu #jack howl x reader #epel felmier x reader #ortho shroud x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #ifk what cane ovwr me #i see an ask with the pitential of angst or an asks that uniquely triggers my autism and tye demons inside me take over #this was done in one sitting #chat am i mentally well chat

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hoetachi · 3 days ago

Text

LOST COUNT — E. (SMOKE) MOORE

➠ tattooartist!smoke x blk!reader

➠ mulan’s input; listen to nekkid by muni long yall… its def smoke coded

➠ cw; y/n is just girl who wants a pretty tatt, hints at ptsd, angst & slow burn (but like barely if you squint)

“ ‘ight, we done the easy part,” stack muttered, reaching for a clean paper towel and gently wiping over your swollen, red skin. you winced even at the touch.

“i think the numbing cream wore off,” you said nervously, eyeing the needle now buzzing back to life in his grip like it was plotting against you.

“sucks to suck,” he shrugged, absolutely no mercy in sight. “‘cuz this next part? gonna sting bad. real bad.”

you instinctively tensed, gripping the cushion beneath you as stack lowered the machine toward your thigh again — right over the part you knew was all soft nerve endings and suffering.

the second the needle touched your skin, your whole leg jerked like it had been hit with a live wire.

“damn!” stack pulled back fast, glaring. “girl, you tryin’ to catch a charge? i told you this part ain’t no joke!”

“i wasn’t ready!” you cried, gripping your own thigh. “you ain’t give me a countdown or nothin’—you just went in!”

stack cut the machine off, dropped his gloves on the tray, and stood up like he was done with life altogether.

“nah. no ma’am. i got high blood pressure. you not finna send me to the er ‘cause you don’t know how to sit still.”

“wait—stack, i’m sorry—”

he threw a hand up, already backing toward the hallway.

“nope. don’t apologize now. i need a break. i need a sandwich. maybe therapy.”

he peeked around the curtain.

“yo, smoke! ol’ girl over here tap dancin’ on the table again. i’m taggin’ out.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “i’m not trying to be difficult,” you mumbled.

a few moments later, you heard the soft tread of boots, then felt the shift in air as smoke stepped into the room. he said nothing at first — just quietly took in the unfinished tattoo, your flushed face, and stack’s dramatic exit.

“he quit on me,” you said weakly, glancing up.

smoke raised a brow. “stack barely got patience for mosquitos. you think he gonna survive a jumpy first-timer?”

“you still want it finished?” he asked, setting down the stencil and gently grabbing a fresh pair of gloves.

you nodded quickly. “yeah. i’m just—i don’t know. my brain knows i want it, but my body’s bein’ a punk.”

that got the faintest flicker of a smile from him. “it happens more than you think.”

he pulled the stool close, adjusted the tray, and checked the lines stack had already done. the buzz of the machine hadn’t even started again yet, but your leg was already bracing itself.

smoke glanced up at you, calm and even.

“you ever try takin’ your mind off the pain?”

you blinked. “like... how?”

he leaned back slightly, considering. then said with a shrug,

“count my tattoos.”

you blinked again. “wait—what?”

“i’m serious.” he gave a soft laugh. “start with what you can see. out loud. keeps your brain busy. works better than holdin’ ya’ breath or squeezin’ the life outta that cushion.”

you hesitated, eyes trailing down his inked arms — and yeah, there was a lot. the longer you looked, the more you noticed the details: a portrait hidden in negative space, script in cursive so tight it looked like it whispered.

“okay... one,” you said, pointing to the jagged barbed wire wrapped around his wrist. “good,” he murmured, flipping the switch on the machine, the buzz soft and familiar

“two...” you said, moving your eyes up his forearm.

he started tattooing again, slow and steady. you winced slightly but kept going.

“three... four... five—”

you stopped, brow furrowing. “wait. that looks like two separate pieces. is it five or six?”

smoke glanced up briefly. “six.”

you nodded, returning to your count. it wasn’t painless, but it was manageable. his voice helped. his presence helped.

“seven... eight...”

he paused the machine suddenly, just for a moment.

“you missed one.”

you looked up at him, confused. “where?”

he didn’t answer right away. just reached down and, with a casual motion, pulled off his black tank.

your jaw damn near dropped.

his chest, arms, collarbones — all of it was marked. more than what you saw before. black and gray realism, smoke-like shadows blending into text, symbols, loss. pain and poetry inked into skin. and near the top of his collarbone sat the one you missed — an abstract design tucked near his heart.

“that one’s easy to overlook,” he said softly, touching the piece near his collarbone.

you blinked.

“...you are so much more tatted than stack.”

he gave a small shrug, almost like he was apologizing for it.

“yeah. i got carried away after the war...”

your eyes found his. he didn’t look at you at first — he just turned the machine off for a moment, resting it carefully beside the tray.

“me and stack enlisted together. thought it’d give us some structure. get us outta mississippi for a while.” he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs.

“but war… it don’t care where you come from. it strips shit from you.”

you were quiet, letting him speak. something about the way he sat — shirtless, half in shadow, tattooed from shoulder to hip — made him look both larger than life and completely exposed.

“every one of these,” he gestured slowly to the ink that wrapped around his chest and arms, “is a piece of what I lost. a name, a moment, a version of me i can’t get back.”

his fingers tapped lightly over the cracked halo on his ribs.

“that one? that’s innocence. got carved out of me overseas and never came back.”

you swallowed hard, not sure what to say at first. the air between you felt full — not heavy, but sacred, like stepping inside a story no one had told out loud in a long time.

“i didn’t know,” you said quietly. “you wear it all like armor.”

he looked at you then, soft eyes full of something between exhaustion and understanding.

“that’s the thing,” he said. “it ain’t armor. it’s a reminder. i don’t wanna forget who i was… even if i don’t recognize him anymore.”

you reached out before you even realized it, fingertips brushing the ink at his shoulder. he didn’t flinch. he let you.

“you’re still here,” you said. “that’s worth something.”

smoke gave you a look then — not surprised, not guarded. just present. like no one had ever said that to him before, and he didn’t quite know how to hold it.

he cleared his throat, lips twitching faintly. “you ready to finish this tattoo, or you need a minute to keep starin’ at me?”

you snorted, blinking quickly and pulling your hand back.

“just trying to be respectful of your trauma, sir.”

“mhm. sounded like thirst to me.” he teased

you studied him with a quiet laugh as the sweet lyrics of tevin campbell’s ‘can we talk’ cushioned your ears whilst he focused on your skin — his brow furrowed, mouth set in a calm line. so careful, so still. nothing like his brother, all loudness and sharp commentary. where stack talked with his hands, smoke spoke in silence. in patience. in presence.

and damn, now that you were this close, really looking…

“you’re nothing like your brother,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

smoke’s eyes flicked up, a little glint hiding behind his lashes.“that a good thing or a bad thing?”

you smirked. “good. stack’s the kind of loud people notice. you’re the kind of quiet they remember.”

he chuckled low in his throat. “careful. say one more poetic line and i might start thinkin’ you sweet on me.”

you opened your mouth to clap back— something equally slick, equally brave — but then the needle hit that spot on your thigh.

“oh—shit—” you gasped, jerking slightly, hand flying to grab the table’s edge like it could save you.

smoke’s hand pressed gently on your hip to steady you.

“breathe. deep. in through your nose, not through your scream.”

you groaned through clenched teeth, hating how good he smelled, hating how good his voice sounded, even when you were on the verge of seeing stars.

“i was having a poetic-ass moment,” you wheezed, “and then my nerve endings decided to jump me.”

he chuckled, eyes back on your thigh.

“that’s how it goes. beauty always costs somethin’.”

you clenched your jaw as the needle buzzed back to life, digging into the softest part of your thigh like it was trying to start a fire. your hands curled around the cushion beneath you, nails biting into the leather, but you didn’t move.

you refused to.

smoke had already seen enough — the flinching, the squirming, stack quitting on you like it was nothing. you weren’t about to fold now. not in front of him.

“you good?” he asked, not even looking up.

“mhm.” you nodded quickly, too quickly.

smoke didn’t say anything. just kept going, slow and steady. the room was quiet, but your body was screaming, and you were doing everything in your power to hide it. your eyes were glassy, your breathing shallow. your leg twitched once— just a little — but it was enough.

he stopped. turned off the machine.

you didn’t dare look up.

“why’d you stop?”

“because you lyin’,” he said calmly, setting the machine down like this was routine.

you blinked at him, heart stuttering.

“i said I’m good.”

smoke finally looked up, expression unreadable but firm.

“and your face said otherwise.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already wiping your skin clean again — gentle, deliberate, careful.

“you don’t gotta prove anything to me.”

“i’m not,” you muttered, but it came out too soft. too guilty.

smoke raised a brow.

“so you makin’ that face just for fun?”

you went quiet. the weight of his stare was heavier than the pain had been. it wasn’t judgment. it wasn’t pity. it was just real.

“you don’t think i’ve seen people try to sit through more than they should? you think i’d let you walk outta here hurt worse just so you can feel tough?”

he leaned back slightly, peeling off his gloves with a slow tug.

“you wanna finish this piece? cool. i got you, but not if it means watchin’ you suffer and act like you not.”

you looked away, jaw tight. you hated that he could see through you like that. hated even more that he was right.

he didn’t press. just stood up, pulled out the wrap, and moved with the same quiet care he always had with 702’s ‘get it together’ whispering through the shop like a sign from the universe, telling you to sit your stubborn ass down.

“we’ll finish it when your body’s ready. not before.”

as he wrapped your thigh, you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. disappointed, frustrated, but… grateful.

“you didn’t have to stop.”

“i know,” he said, taping the last edge down. “but i wanted to.”

“we’ll finish another day,” he reassured, securing the bandage in place one last time. “ink ain’t goin’ nowhere. and neither am i.”

you watched him reach for the clipboard to jot something down, still trying to swallow the strange ache that had nothing to do with the tattoo.

“stack left you mid-session like a punk. you’re not payin’ full,” he said without looking up, like it was a decision he’d already made before you ever sat down.

“you sure?” you asked.

he shrugged, “you sat longer than most first-timers would’ve.” you opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a glance.

“ain’t charity. it’s respect.”

that shut you up. you looked at him and felt something twist deep in your chest. not regret. not pain. just that awful ache of wanting more time with someone right when it runs out. you were just starting to understand him. just starting to peel back the quiet. and now the session was over.

“guess I’ll see you soon, then.”

it sounded casual, but the hope in your voice gave you away. smoke nodded, handing you the paperwork.

“i’ll keep your stencil ready.” you took it from him, your fingers brushing his — just barely. but it lingered like a promise neither of you said out loud.

#x black reader #black reader #smoke moore #sinners fic #sinners smoke #elijah smoke moore #elijah moore x reader #smoke moore x reader

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feelfreetopleasemexo · 28 days ago

Text

What’re friends for?

Katsukixreader

You tried to slide your left hand down your pants, tried to roll your fingers over your clit, tried to reach down to your soaking entrance to help bring your slick up to give less resistance, but it was no use. Your fingers wouldnt cooperate, your coordination wasnt there, it felt like a teenager who was touching their first pussy, awkward and fumbling. Your vibrator had died and the charger was an open wired broken mess. There was no way in hell youd ask Denki to help you charge it, no way hed ever let you live that down. So you reached for your phone, messaging the only person you knew you might stand a chance at convincing to help you.

‘Hey! So got a bit of a weird question to ask….’

‘I can hear what you’re trying to do. Fucking stop it. Weirdo.’

‘Oh cmon i need help, my hands fucked, I’ll buy you dinner for the rest of the week if you can help me figure something out….’

Katsukis room was next to yours, and the walls were excruciatingly thin. You could hear every snore, every gruff, every drum beat, so it was no surprise he could hear you awkwardly trying to get yourself off. Hell, the only reason you were even trying to touch yourself was because you swore you could hear him doing it first. Youd known each other for years, he was the type of friend that you couldnt shake off, youd seen each other at your best and your worst, he knew too much about you and you knew even more about him, so why not? Friends help each other out dont they…

After hearing your message ping to his phone from through the wall, and him not replying after clearly reading it, you lay your head back and sighed, it was a long shot but a part of you honestly thought he might’ve helped. You tried again, sliding your hand inbetween your thighs, tracing your entrance, inserting your fingers and trying to reach your soft spot but it was no use, you were right handed and that was currently in a cast after training yesterday. You tried to curl your fingers, tried to tilt your hips to give any release, when your door was kicked open. Katsuki stood there, completely unfazed by your fingers being deep in your pants, you pulled your hand out and tried to pull your blanket over you, you luckily weren’t naked, but the position he found you in still made embarrassment flush your cheeks.

He rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets and kicked your door shut behind him. He walked towards you, grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the end of your bed, kneeling down infront of you. He opened your legs aggressively, reaching up and pulling your shorts off in a swift movement as he then pulled your pants off too. You stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open, he didn’t even seem phased that your pussy was now an inch away from his face. He reached his ring and middle finger to his mouth, spat aggressively on them and turning his palm to the ceiling as he slipped the inside of you, your slick almost running down your thighs already made it easy for him to enter you. As he put his fingers in, he leant down and started running his tongue up your clit. As he curled his fingers inside you, acting as if he was doing homework or watching a tv show, your back arched and a moan escaped your lips.

He locked his arm and started pumping his fingers in and out of you, starting slowly then quickly picking up the pace, as he flicked his tongue over and around your clit, it felt like he was a pro at this, like this was second nature to him, moving his tongue so fast it almost felt faster than the vibrations of your toys. As he pressed on your sweet spot perfectly with every thrust of his fingers tips, he then reached up and started pinching your nipples through your shirt, he didn’t even need to look to know exactly where they were. Euphoria filled your veins, the hot electricity burning its way through your core, building up quickly and almost instantly washing over you, you reached your hand to his hair and gripped it tightly, it was your only lifeline keeping you in your body. Every lick, every thrust, every squeeze felt calculated, like he had researched you for years and was finally putting his knowledge to the test. Your body wound tight then snapped, it felt almost instantaneous, your body now shaking under his relentless touch. He helped you ride it out, lapping up every ounce of your slick as if he was a man starved. He slowed his thrusts, started kissing your thighs instead of licking your clit, as your body slowly stopped shaking. After youd completely stopped, your moans now breathy gasps as you came down from your high, he stood up and wiped his mouth, walking back towards your door. He stopped before leaving, glancing back at you over his shoulder,

“Don’t buy a new toy, that was actually kinda fun.” He closed the door behind him as he went back to his room. Why the fuck did he not look bothered about giving you that utter pro porn experience, and why did absolutely relish in his experience, wanting more already.

#bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bnha #bnha fanart #katsuki bakugou #bhna #bnha smut #smut artist #bakugo smut #mha smut #smut

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smutmind · 2 months ago

Text

Turnabout - Let Her Reign Pt. 2

Winter x Male Reader

The sheets twisted beneath them, damp with sweat and heat.

He didn’t waste time. One hand found her wrist and pinned it above her head, the other slid between her thighs, still slick, still twitching. She gasped—high and soft—but didn’t fight it.

“Still think you’re in charge?” His voice was low, roughened by the edge of spent control.

Winter blinked up at him, lashes clumped from sweat. “I was. You’re just late to the game.”

He laughed once, short and breathless. Then he sank two fingers into her—slow, deliberate. She arched, mouth open but silent, eyes wide as he curled them just right.

“You’re dripping,” he muttered. “Still greedy?”

She bit her lip, nodding. He kissed her jaw, then lower, tasting the salt on her collarbone, dragging his teeth lightly across her chest. When his tongue flicked her nipple, she whimpered, legs tightening around his waist.

“Keep them there,” he warned, glancing down.

Winter locked her ankles behind his back.

Then he slid in—slow this time, too slow. She twisted under him, nails scraping down his arms, breath catching like it hurt to take in air.

“Fuck, you feel too good,” she whispered.

He thrust deeper, grinding in, angling his hips to keep her gasping. Her wrists strained under his grip but she didn’t pull away. Her body was a live wire—tight, trembling, every nerve laid bare.

“You love being taken apart, don’t you?” he murmured against her throat.

She shivered. “Not always.”

“Tonight you do.”

She didn’t argue.

He let go of her wrists and gripped her thighs, spreading her wider, watching her expression change as he drove harder. The rhythm built, steady, rough, demanding. The slap of their bodies echoed off the walls, louder than the stammered words between them.

“Oh god—don’t stop,” she begged, eyes rolling back.

“I’m not done yet,” he growled.

She came again, hard and sudden, thighs clamping down, breath punched out of her in a broken sob. Her body clenched, milking him again, but he kept moving, pushing through the aftershocks until she shook.

Then he pulled out, flipped her over with a grip to her hips.

“On your knees.”

She obeyed, shaky but eager, hair sticking to her damp back. He dragged her back to him, one hand flat on her spine, the other guiding himself in deep.

Winter cried out, voice raw now. Her cheek pressed into the pillow, hips arched just enough to take all of him. He held her steady, the curve of her ass a perfect fit for his hands, and drove into her with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. Every thrust lifted her slightly off the bed, her breasts brushing the sheets, her mouth open in helpless sound.

“Louder,” he demanded.

She didn’t hold back.

He pounded into her, fast, deep, relentless, watching the way her back arched and her hands fisted the sheets. Her moans spilled out in rhythm with every thrust, shameless and needy. She reached for more, pushed back against him, lost in it.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—” she gasped.

“Let go.”

She did. She broke. Fell apart in pieces, voice cracking on a scream. Her body writhed, clenched, collapsed.

He wasn’t far behind. One last thrust and he buried himself deep, his own release tearing through him, groaning low against her back.

They collapsed together. Breathing hard. Limbs tangled.

Minutes passed.

Winter turned her head, voice scratchy and smug. “So… I take it we’re even now?”

He smirked into her shoulder. “Not even close.”

#winter smut #winter aespa #aespa smut #aespa x reader #male reader #smut

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the-unidentified-author · 27 days ago

Text

You Are a Strange Little Creature, I Think I'll Keep You | Qimir | Star Wars

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], very rough, enemies to lovers, fight then fuck, hes rough, unrelenting, teasing, fighting talk, hes hot, consensual!

POV: Reader / You, no personal descriptions

Summary: Qimir has hunted the galaxy for you trying to find what the force has been pulling him towards. Now he has you, he is not letting you go.

Word Count: 4,167

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

"You're a strange little creature," whispered Qimir, his voice laced with something you couldn't place, a hint of intrigue, perhaps, or a dark amusement that sent a chill skittering down your spine. His eyes, glinting in the shadow-dappled light, seemed to bore into you, peeling back layers until you felt utterly exposed under his scrutiny. There was a weight to his words, a heaviness that settled in your gut, making the air around you feel dense and charged.

You thrashed against the iron grip cinched around your throat, fingers prying at his wrist as you strained to touch the ground. His hold remained unyielding, your toes brushing the soil just enough to torture you with the hope of purchase. Every muscle coiled and twisted, your body writhing like a live wire as you clawed at his arm, seeking any weakness. But he held you fast, your flailing legs casting frantic shadows across the forest floor. As your awareness wavered, the pungent aroma of damp earth and decay enveloped you, both grounding and ethereal in your compromised state. The edges of your vision flickered with creeping shadows, those ominous black dots encroaching like a relentless tide, threatening to swallow you whole.

Branches arched overhead, clawing at what little light managed to slip past the mossy canopy. Damp earth pressed cold against your heels as you dangled, feet scuffing uselessly at rotting leaves. The woods pulsed with the hush of distant insects startled into silence by violence, air so thick and wet it tasted of decay and secrets. Your vision splintered, but you rasped out a sliver of speech past the pressure on your windpipe, your voice a rough, shaky thing. "A Jedi… isn't afraid," you choked, defiance burning through the haze as your nails dug deeper into his skin.

Your body grew heavy, as if gravity itself had doubled its weight. The world around you blurred into streaks of shadow and memory, colours bleeding into one another. Your limbs felt like lead, and despite your desperate efforts to stay alert, consciousness slipped away in slow, suffocating waves.

***

Your eyes peeled open to darkness mottled with golden flickers. The ceiling above was not the sterile white of a medbay or the tangled canopy of the forest, but cold stone, rough and ancient, vaulting overhead. You lay cocooned in heavy blankets atop a real bed, linen sheets, a proper frame, incongruously sumptuous against the uneven floor of the cave. Faint blue light from a battered holopanel danced over the walls, mingling with the honeyed glow of an old-fashioned lantern. Machinery thrummed quietly somewhere deeper in the cavern, a hum unmistakable, a shield generator, perhaps, or a battered droid on standby. The wound at your shoulder throbbed, the sensation dulled by clean, snug bandages that bore the faint herbal scent of bacta patches. The air tasted of minerals and distant rain, foreign and feral yet almost soothing, as you tried to piece together how you’d come to wake here, folded in warmth but utterly unsure of your safety. Completely confused as to why you weren't dead.

Qimir, now stripped of the black sleeveless armour he'd worn when he tried to kill you, shuffled into the cave’s chamber, oddly domestic in loose, unevenly patched linen. His hair was disheveled, and damp, and he kept his back to you as he moved with measured purpose, boots whispering against the uneven stone. Slowly, carefully, you surveyed the alcove surrounding the bed, its walls studded with jagged blue crystal veins and half-unpacked storage crates. Discarded coils of rope, an oil-stained toolkit, and what looked suspiciously like a battered astromech dome littered the corners. You searched desperately for anything that could be wielded as a weapon, your gaze landing on a hydrospanner, a cup, a chipped plate, before your eyes snagged on something more familiar.

"Your saber is on the table beside you," he muttered, voice flat, as if offering a harmless trinket rather than a weapon. He knelt on the stone floor, indifferent, and dropped a handful of root vegetables onto a battered prep board beside a pot above a fire.

He leaned over and stirred the pot with a carved wooden spoon, the savoury scent of simmering broth curling through the flickering glow, hands steady and unconcerned by your presence.

You snatched your saber, flicking the emitter on; its blade hissed to life, an unstable blue glow trembling in your grip. Still half tangled in blankets, knees pressed into creaking mattress coils, you braced yourself, holding it two-handed, ready and waiting for the first sign he might turn on you again.

"Why don’t the Jedis know who you are?" you rasped, each word scraped raw as you forced it out, your throat sore.

Qimir turned to look at you, utterly unfazed, his gaze cool and appraising, not even acknowledging the saber clutched in your grip. Shadows played across his features, giving his expression a sculpted sharpness, but his posture suggested a kind of profound boredom, as if the threat you thought you posed was merely another passing inconvenience.

"They do," Qimir answered, his tone flat, unreadable, but his gaze gleamed with something unspoken.

"No," you coughed, shaking your head, fury flaring past panic, "if they did, they sent us willingly to a slaughter."

"The Jedis know who I am," Qimir murmured, tilting his head slightly like a predator sizing up prey, "they just don’t want you to know who I am."

You blinked hard through tearing eyes, your heart ached for those you had lost, voice fractured but stubborn. "What purpose would that serve?" His lips curled in a thin, mirthless smile.

"The Jedis need you to have unwavering faith that their way is the only way, the light, or the dark," he said, voice low and threading through the shadows twined between you. "To tell you of me would mean to admit there are other ways the Force can be used."

You shook your head, "I don’t care how else the Force can be used."

"You should," he shot back, unsettling patience in his words as he studied your face, as though waiting for understanding to dawn. Your anger splintered through your fear, breath catching painfully.

"Why the hell did you even bring me here?" you choked. "You killed my friends, and now you’re lecturing me about the Force?"

Qimir’s gaze darkened, a hint of something predatory flickering in his eyes as he studied you.

He stood and took a step closer, his presence seeming to fill the space between you, the air crackling with an energy that made your skin prickle. "You intrigue me," he said softly, voice like velvet sliding over razors. "You burn brightly. I find I want to…shape that. Mold it." His eyes trailed deliberately over your hunched form, the blankets pooling around your tense frame.

Heat bloomed in your face, anger, and something uncomfortably like hunger tangling under your skin. "I’m not some plaything for your amusement," you snarled, but the words lacked bite, your voice roughened from more than just injury, you turned off the saber and let your hands fall to the bedsheets defeated.

For a moment, the air between you seemed to hum, thick and bright with something restless, the Force pulsing like a hidden current just out of sight. You could feel it: not the steady calm of the Jedi way, but some wilder gravity knitting the space between you and him, a pull that made your breath catch. Qimir’s gaze dropped to your hands, then back to your face, a slight smile ghosting across his lips, as if he, too, sensed the tension pulling you closer despite every instinct to flee. The Force pressed like a heated palm at your back, coaxing you to breach the divide, to surrender to the question threaded between danger and desire. Your pulse hammered against your ribs, dizzy and unmoored, as if your body were not entirely your own.

"Would you like some soup?" he asked suddenly, shattering the taut silence with surprising gentleness, a genuine smile flickering across his mouth as he turned back to the pot, the outline of his shoulders softening under the lantern glow. The invitation hung between you, fragile and absurd in its domesticity, as if the moment before hadn’t been laced with something sharp-edged and electric.

He ladled the soup with deliberate care, slow and precise, the faint clink of metal on stone oddly intimate in the hush of the cave. Without asking, he crossed the space and set the battered bowl on the table beside you, close enough that you could smell the aromatic steam spiralling upward. Qimir didn’t retreat. He lingered, eyes locked on yours, the heat of his body brushing the edge of your blankets. “You still look ready to run,” he murmured, voice pitched low and sultry, almost teasing. “Or ready to pounce. I’m not sure which I prefer.”

He set a spoon by your hand but didn’t move away. Instead, Qimir sat on the edge of the bed, close, but not quite touching, his weight causing the mattress to dip beneath him and tilting your bodies subtly toward each other.

He killed your friends, your brain screamed at you, desperate and raw, trying to fight this strange sensation creeping over your body, this electric ache kindling beneath your skin, equal parts terror and reckless longing. Every instinct screamed to recoil, to strike out, yet the space between you felt dangerously thin, charged with something you didn’t have the words to name.

Suddenly, you lunged forward, your lightsaber arcing through the air, aimed directly at him. Qimir was remarkably swift, he sidestepped with a fluid, almost predatory grace, practically gliding out of the way as your blade sliced through the space where he had just been. His body moved with a calculated ease, arms reaching out in a quick, practiced motion to grab for his weapon.

With a savage flick of his wrist, Qimir summoned his weapon from across the cave, metal skittering through the air before slapping into his palm. The red blade snapped to life, hissing as he met your next strike in a shower of crackling sparks. You bared your teeth, jaw clenched so hard it ached, pouring every ounce of fury and confusion into each swing. The cave rang with the clash of energy on energy, the searing heat of the blades seeping through the air between you. Qimir parried, deflecting your attacks with terrifying composure, a smirk playing at his lips as if he relished each strike. It was as if the force between you had turned feral, wild intensity humming with every movement, pushing you both closer and setting you alight from the inside out.

Your next slash didn’t catch him, but it did graze the fabric of his loose tunic, the edge of your saber searing through linen as he pivoted away with feline agility. For a split second, a bright trail of char traced his side, the tunic fluttering down in tatters. Qimir stilled, the fight pausing on a knife edge, and with deliberate leisure, he pulled the ruined fabric from his frame. The muscles of his chest flexed in the lantern light, lean, sculpted, dusted with a mischievous trail of hair that arrowed down between his pectorals. For all his elegance, there was something raw and dangerous in the way he shed the garment, eyes flicking up to catch your reaction, mouth curving into a sly, infuriatingly confident smile.

He let out a low, mocking laugh, not out of breath in the slightest. "If you wanted me to take my clothes off that badly," he drawled, voice turning languid and wicked, "you should have just asked."

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the screaming burn radiating from your shoulder and down your arm, trying to smother the fire in your gut that drew you towards him. Every nerve seemed to pulse with a heat that had nothing to do with the fight, something wild and hungry that coiled low in your belly, threatening to consume you. Your breath came short and sharp, each exhale a low, ragged sound that betrayed the battle raging beneath your skin. The room felt too small, too close, the space between you charged with a force that pulled you in even as your mind screamed to pull away. His gaze bored into yours, dark and knowing, as if he could see the war waging within you, and relished every moment of your struggle.

You swung again, your blade clashing against his in a spray of sparks that rained down on the stone floor, again and again and again. Each strike was fuelled by the roiling anger in your gut, the desperate need to lash out, to make him feel the pain that seared through your every nerve. But with every parry, Qimir's smirk only seemed to deepen, his eyes alight with a dark amusement that sent a sickening thrill through your core. He was toying with you, relishing the fight, the danger, the electric charge that crackled between you with every meeting of blades. And god's help you, some twisted part of you thrilled at it too, drawn to the heat of his body, the wild, savage energy that hummed in the air, the promise of violence and something darker, headier, lacing each strike.

You misstepped and he gained the upper hand, using your momentum to fling you against the wall, your lightsaber angled across your throat, the only thing stopping his from taking off your head. With your back pressed to the wall, you almost growled with the exertion of trying to push him off, the muscles in his arms bulging as he leaned in closer. Then, shockingly, he kissed you. A wave of conflicting emotions radiated through you, and for a few dizzying seconds, you found yourself kissing him back before clarity returned with a vengeance. You bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood. He stepped away from you, a smile playing on his lips as he raised his hand to wipe away the crimson stain.

“My my, you like to play rough," Qimir purred, his tongue darting out to dab at the blood on his lip. "I must admit, I like a bit of fire in my partners. It makes things so much more…engaging." He took a step closer again.

You lifted your saber, fury spiking anew, and swung at him with reckless abandon. Qimir danced back effortlessly, the red blade of his weapon humming through the air as he parried your strikes with aggravating, almost lazy precision. He barely seemed to break a sweat, his eyes locked on you, sharp and utterly focused, drinking in every twitch of your muscles, every shift in your stance. His mouth curled into a half-smile, a taunting glimmer lighting in his gaze as he countered each attack like this was all just a game between lovers instead of mortal enemies.

"Give into it as I have. There's something pulling us together," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, smoky and intimate, "I could feel it half a universe away." You swung again, angrier than before, but he didn’t bother to block, he just held his arms open, chest bared, leaving himself vulnerable. Your saber arced within a breath of his skin, the electric blue glow trembling at the edge of his heart. For a heartbeat, you hovered on that razor's edge, the Force coiled tight and shimmering, something in it gripping your wrist, refusing to let you strike home. Your hand shook. There was a tightness in your chest as if the air had thickened, heat simmering where rage and something unspoken collided. He stood still, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he already knew you couldn’t do it. "There it is," he whispered.

Slowly, you lowered your saber, the blade flickering out as it clattered to the floor, forgotten. Hesitantly, you stepped forward, heart pounding in your ears, the space between you narrowing to inches. Qimir closed the gap, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you into a rough kiss. This time, you didn't pull away, instead, you leaned into the contact, your lips parting under his as something wild and reckless ignited in your veins. The world narrowed to the slide of his tongue against yours, the heat of his skin, the Force crackling around you like a live wire. There was no thought of right or wrong, no questioning the pull that had been building since the moment you met, just the consuming need to be closer, to give in to the fire he had stoked to life inside you.

The pair of you moved toward the bed in a feverish blur, your hands hungrily mapping the planes of his chest, the hard, lean muscle shifting beneath your palms, warm and impossibly alive. The scent of sweat and spice rose from his skin as your fingers traced the line of hair that arrowed down from his sternum, following the sharp dip of his collarbones and the ridges flanking his ribs. Every movement made his muscles flex, a living echo of the lethal grace he'd shown in the fight. You relished the heat radiating from him, the way your touch seemed to draw a low, pleased sound from deep in his throat. His skin was peppered with old scars, each one a sharp reminder of the danger wrapped in every inch of him.

He guided you down to the mattress you had woken up on, his lips trailing fire down the column of your throat. "I should kill you," you whispered, the last of your fight ebbing away even as the words left your lips.

"Yes, you should," he mumbled into the curve of your neck, his hands sliding up the inside of your shirt, searing a path over your stomach, your ribs, your chest. The warmth of his touch seemed to melt away the last of your resistance, leaving you boneless and trembling beneath him. Each brush of his fingers sent sparks dancing across your skin, nerve endings alight with sensation. You felt dizzy, drunk on the feel of him, the reckless, impossible need that seemed to consume you both.

"This is wrong," you tried to keep the fight ignited, even as your voice wavered.

Qimir's lips curved into a wicked, knowing smile as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over your ear. "It won't feel so wrong, when I'm done with you." His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and anticipation that made your heart race. "I know you feel it," he murmured, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head back to meet his eyes. "The pull. The connection." His gaze was dark, intense, as if he could see straight through to your very soul. "You can fight it all you want, but in the end, you'll surrender. You'll see."

Your breath caught at his words, at the certainty in his voice that seemed to reverberate deep inside you. "And what then?" you managed to ask, your voice rough with emotion. "What happens when I do?"

"It will feel even better than it already does," he whispered, hands fiddling with the connections that held your tunic together. His fingers were deft, nimble, making short work of the fastenings as he bared your skin to the cool air. Every brush of his knuckles against the sensitive flesh beneath sent shivers cascading through you, heat blooming in their wake. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, laid bare before him, something hungry and possessive flickering across his features. "So beautiful," he murmured, voice rough with want as his hands skimmed over your newly exposed skin, tracing patterns that made your breath catch. "So perfect." His touch was reverent,

Grasping one breast in one hand, he lowered his lips to the other, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak until you gasped. He teased gently at first, feathering soft, torturous caresses that made your back arch, desperate for more. Then he sucked harder, pulling the tender flesh into his mouth with a pressure that sent shocks of pleasure straight to your core. His hand mirrored his mouth's movements, kneading and caressing until you were trembling beneath him, undone by the dual sensations.

Then his hands moved to the fastenings on your trousers, pulling them away and standing up and stepping back to yank them free of your legs. The fabric slid down your thighs, baring the last of your secrets to his hungry gaze. You felt exposed, vulnerable, laid out like an offering before him, but the look in his eyes held no room for shame. Only desire, dark and fierce, burning away every doubt until there was nothing left but the need consuming you both.

Then he grabbed at your legs, twisting you so that you were on your stomach.

"Stand," he commanded, his voice rough with urgency, and you did, supporting your upper body by bracing outstretched hands locked at the elbow against the bed.

He used his knee to guide your thighs apart, the rough fabric of his trousers scraping against your sensitive skin, until you were standing bare and open before him. You felt his fingers slip between your legs, his touch hot as he explored how badly your body had betrayed you. He teased you with light, torturous strokes, circling the sensitive nub at your centre until your hips bucked wildly against his hand, desperate for more.

"You're so wet for me," he growled, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "So ready." He slipped one finger inside you, then another, stretching you, preparing you, as your walls clenched around him, greedy for more. You moaned, shameless in your need, your hips rocking back to meet his touch, silently begging him for everything, for the release you knew only he could give.

Then his finger retreated, and you heard the rustle of his trousers, then the feeling of him sliding over you, hot and thick. You cried out, your body trembling at the sudden invasion, the intensity of the sensation. He felt huge inside you, filling you to the brink, the stretch both painful and perfect, a delicious ache that only stoked the flames higher. Every nerve ending seemed to ignite at once, your skin prickling with goosebumps as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. Pleasure and pain blurred together, a heady mix that made your head swim, your legs shake. You felt pinned, impaled, utterly at his mercy.

You cried out, your body trembling at the sudden invasion, the intensity of the sensation. He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust, before he began to move, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that was at once brutal and beautiful. Every stroke sent sparks cascading through your body, winding the tension tighter and tighter until you were sobbing with the need for release. He filled you completely, his hard length dragging against every sensitive nerve ending, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both. Each thrust was a claim, a brand, searing his possession into your very soul.

He set a pace that was unrelenting, almost punishing in its intensity, as if he could fuck the fight right out of you, turn your defiance into pure, undiluted need. He leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled your head back to claim your mouth in a searing kiss. The taste of him flooded your senses, dark and heady, as he took you with a single-minded intensity that left you reeling. The world narrowed to the slide of his body against yours, the slap of flesh on flesh, the desperate sounds that spilled from your lips with every relentless thrust.

You came hard, your body clenching around him like a vice, stars exploding behind your eyes as the pleasure crashed over you. You expected him to slow, to be close to his release, but his tempo didn't waver, and a sob left your lips as the sensation of pleasure became overwhelming.

"We're not done yet," he whispered, his hand grabbing the back of your neck, the angle pulling your face up. Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpsed a mirror that gave you a full view of him fucking into you, the sight so raw and carnal it sent another shockwave of lust through your core. He looked like a god of debauchery, skin gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing with every ruthless thrust.

The look in his eyes was pure sin, dark and possessive, filled with wicked promise. "You're going to come for me again," he growled, his other hand snaking around your hip to rub tight circles over your sensitised nub. "And again. Until you can't remember your own name. Until the only word left on your lips is mine."

A Link to My Complete Inventory

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luveline · 1 year ago

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since you’re looking for marauders requests could you write more for coworker james? 💗 maybe they kiss again or he asks her out or idk whatever strikes you 💗

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.2k

You close your eyes on a whim, and he kisses you soundly. His lips part against yours to encourage a similar movement, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side and your noses smudged together. “Please,” he murmurs against your lips.

You wake up that morning to the memory. Mouth still tingling with phantom warmth, hand on a thigh that isn’t yours.

“What?” you say, confused.

Your phone is ringing. There’s the confusion; the noise is loud and sudden and constant. You glare at your nightstand, turning onto your side to grab your phone from the charging wire it’s connected to on the floor by your bed. You stretch, whining at your sore back, and breathless when you finally answer.

James.

“Hello?” you croak. No one answers. “James?”

“Did I wake you up? You sound so tired. Are you okay?”

Too many sentences. You're tired as he deduced, enough to let the phone lay on your pillow as your eyes slip closed again.

“No,” you say eventually.

“What’s wrong?”

“I mean, you didn’t wake me,” you lie.

“Oh, good. Do you want to get coffee?”

“With who?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. Can I please buy you some coffee? Please. I’d love to get you one before work.”

You groan into your hands. “What time is it, James?”

“I didn’t wake you, but you don’t know the time?” he asks sceptically.

“It’s so early.” You’re whining for no reason, just your bed is warm, the sheets are soft. Your lower back aches, and you’ve never felt as comfortable as you do with James on the line.

“Well… maybe I can pick you up? We’ll get coffee from the Costa drive-thru?”

That's scary. You yawn and sniff, sitting up, posture flopped like a poorly fish. Your face feels tight under your hands as you rub your cheeks and eyes, James’ tinny voice echoing from the phone but not comprehensible.

You push yourself out of bed onto tired feet. Then you drag the phone to your ear. “I’m sorry, James, I need time to wake up. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I’m just asking,” you say softly. Isn’t this what you should be doing with one another? Soft questions. You really do care about the answer, after all. He must know that.

“I’m fine. I’ll feel better when I see you–” You laugh, which stops him in his tracks. “What’s funny?”

“James. I’m gonna get dressed, alright? Let me get ready and you can pick me up and we can get coffee. Um, in half an hour. Okay?”

Too tired to feel anxious, you say goodbye to James, wash up and dress yourself for the day ahead, and pack your bag for work. Your phone rings the moment you’ve put on your coat, and it’s not hard to guess who wants to speak to you.

“Hey,” you say, having clicked answer and pulled it again to your ear.

“I’m outside, if you’re still coming with me. No pressure.”

“What do I get if I come with you?”

“Can you just come and get in the car, please, lovely girl? Before I go insane?”

Lovely girl, you think, weighing your options. You can continue to tease him, as is best. You could even turn him away. But you haven’t wanted to fight with him half as much as you’ve wanted to kiss him this last week, and you decide to be kind to yourself. “You’re dramatic. I’m coming, just need to lock the door.”

“Don’t rush, I’m only in agony the longer I go without seeing you.”

“That’s romantic.”

“I’m trying to be.”

“Well, maybe pump the breaks.” You open your door, see his car idling past your driveway. You catch his eye as you continue, “You move too fast.”

He grins at you. Smirks, eyebrows thick and pulling down over light brown eyes as he drops his phone. “Get in the car,” he mouths.

You really wish you didn’t want to, if only to drive him mad. He’s all bark and no bite anyways, he can’t be truly mean, doesn’t have it in him, and you’re barely in the car when he’s reaching over to take your hand. “Listen, I have something to ask you… and you don’t have to rush into an answer, I just need you to know I’m thinking about it.”

You sit silently, your minty mouth suddenly dry.

“Is that okay? Can I ask you something?”

“That depends on what you’re gonna ask me.”

His hand is hot. He smells amazing enclosed in the car together, the radio plays a quiet old rock song from the seventies, and his tie is tight to his throat. He’s handsome, and you make assumptions on what he’s going to ask because he kisses you like he feels the same way about you. Stolen kisses in corridors and elevators, less than you can count on both hands. Each one as capering as the first.

“Would you– I mean, you’re so special, you’re beautiful, and I just can’t get enough of you. I can’t. And this is sort of awkward to ask you, but I figure it’s about time. I mean, it’s been a week already.”

Your eyes widen of their own accord. “James…”

“Would you,” —he rubs the backs of your fingers gently, each pass of his touch a heartbeat— “send me the quarterly returns for me to finish on excel?” He starts to smirk again. “They’re more than a week late now. As department head, I’m getting quite concerned about it.”

You’re too lulled by his touch to feel mad. “You’re not department head,” you say softly.

“You’re beautiful.” He leans in across the console for a kiss, the car humming under your legs, his lips their own humming where they press to yours. “And so bad at your job,” he says.

“That’s not funny.”

He shrugs. “Are we funny?” he asks.

You want to tuck a stray curl behind his ear, so you do. “Be nice to me today, or I’m not gonna let you kiss me again.”

“Where’s the fun in being nice?”

“Where’s the fun in not kissing me?” you ask.

It’s a bold question, the kind where you’re almost begging to get your own feelings hurts when he answers, because it’s a lot to say to someone who’s nothing more than an annoyance turned crush turned occasional kissing partner, and yet. He looks properly chastened.

“I’ll be nice from now on,” he promises.

It’s insane. He got too close to you a week ago and you lost control, asked to kiss him against your better judgement, let him kiss you when he wanted to, and now you’re here. It’s too good to be true.

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting, and waiting…

“You okay?” he asks.

Doubt clogs your throat. You swallow it down. “Yeah, I’m okay. What do you get from Costa? Coconut milk cappuccino?”

“No,” he says, leaning over for a kiss, proof of his lie a curve against your lips. “What makes you think that?”

You smile and struggle to kiss back. He just seems like he’d like a coconut cappuccino.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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riality-check · 7 months ago

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ao3 link

Heimerdinger’s class is set up… unconventionally. That is how Viktor thinks of it when he is being diplomatic. Ordinarily, he thinks of it as bullshit.

There is no graded homework, which means there is no homework in Viktor’s eyes. The material is trivial for the most part, and he does not see a need to waste time on practice problems he can guess the answers to. The class has two midterms, each worth a quarter of the grade, and one final project.

One project. Worth half the grade. Viktor read the syllabus five times to make sure he was not having a stroke.

To make it worse, the project had one instruction: make something.

When Heimerdinger failed to follow up that statement, Viktor worried the professor was the one having a stroke.

Viktor creates throughout the semester. He makes a semi-permanent cover for the smoke alarm in his dorm, fashions a hydraulic hinge to ease the load of pushing his unduly heavy door open, and copies the keys to the library so he can get to the better study spaces before it opens and someone else can steal the high chairs by the good windows.

He is not secretive about any of this. He is sure his roommate - Viktor does not remember his name, but he does remember how he talked of what the Academy was like when his father and grandfather attended - complained about his endless tinkering after he got his room reassigned. Yet he is only approached once by other students of the Academy.

A few other students on his floor, the kind that his old roommate frequently fraternized with, the kind with soft hands and heavy watches, approach him about building a machine to count money for their “semi-legal” poker matches. They tell him that he can even be in charge of the money for a cut, if he’d like.

The coin would not hurt. It would be nice to have something extra to spend, to be able to go into town with the rest of them and actually buy something instead of keeping his hands in his pockets. It would be nice to get fresh fruit from the market instead of the meals served at school. It would be nice to be able to afford a trip back down. He has some people he would like to visit. Some people he owes for being here.

He tells the other students no, that he cannot do it, but he would like to play if they ever had an open seat.

Viktor has no intention of ever wasting time gambling, nor does he have the money to begin the habit in the first place. He just wants to confirm what he suspects. And the other students do that for him, with tense smiles of whiter than white - strange that they have so many sweets here and yet they do not rot - that fail to reach their eyes.

They are perfectly content to have a trencher count their Piltie coins, but they would never want them sitting at the same table.

Viktor only makes useful things. It has been that way since he was a child, and his first semester at the Academy is no different. Everything he creates, from the window screen he rigged out of layers of wire scraps from the engineering laboratory (copied those keys as well) to the heat/ice pack he fashioned from chemistry lab leftovers, has a use. With the project deadline fast approaching, he figures he should do the same for Heimerdinger’s singular, inane project.

So, he makes a cane.

As the semester progressed, and as he learned from Heimerdinger’s surprisingly engaging lectures, he realized his current cane was insufficient. This should not have been surprising; he had been using it for years. It had cracked along one side, and it was a little too short as a result of his most recent (though less than impressive) growth spurt. In truth, he had probably needed a new cane for some time now, but he often had more pressing matters to attend to. If he had it his way, he would only replace it if it broke, but that would be worse long term.

He knew that. He was not stupid.

The course gave him dedicated time to perfect a design that would, hopefully, last for a time, since he had almost certainly stopped growing. The course, being introductory, did not have a lab, so Viktor made his own. In his dorm.

It is little wonder his roommate leaves halfway through the semester. Viktor supposes maybe he was in the wrong for using his contraband soldering iron (found in the trash, only took a little coaxing to work again) past midnight, but he is of the opinion that his roommate should not have been bringing people back to the dorm to have sex with them. On weeknights. With Viktor there. Trying to sleep.

He thinks it breaks even.

In total, he makes two dozen canes. He plans every design diligently using the equations and principles copied down from Heimerdinger’s truly atrocious blackboard scrawl. He tries various materials and carves them into different shapes, testing what fits his hand better, what balances better, and what holds the most weight.

(He learns early to test the last factor leaning toward his bed. When a model he fashioned for the express purpose of testing the minimum amount of material necessary to function predictably snapped, Viktor failed to put his other hand out in time and smashed his face on the unforgiving floor.

Once his nose stopped bleeding and he could overcome the screaming pain in his leg to pull himself into his desk chair, he wrote down his observations.)

He pens all his observations, complete with schematics, equations, and graphs of the various factors that make a cane a good cane. It takes up ten sheets of paper, front and back, because why waste perfectly good space?

Viktor finds throughout the process that most canes are not good canes. They are uncomfortable to hold for long, or too weak, or too unstable, or some combination of the three. The more models he makes - and, in many cases, breaks - the more he realizes that most of the canes he has seen in the Undercity are not good canes. They are cobbled from scraps, from old parts torn from metal and wood and whatever else available. They are fragile and jagged, unyielding and practical. Just like his people.

If he can make a good cane quickly and cheaply, that could mean something. That could improve lives for so many people, however little.

Viktor would like to do more, but, as he has done all his life, he recognizes his limitations. He is a first year university student from the Undercity. He is the only university student from the Undercity. As much as his ambition craves doing something grand and good, he is not in a position to accomplish that yet. He must walk the tightrope. Roll over on command. Ask “how high” whenever they tell him to jump, always looking confused if he ever mentions the pain.

He grits his teeth. There is only the work.

All the final projects for all of Heimerdinger’s class sections are presented at an end of semester research symposium, open to the entire Academy. It is… overwhelming, to say the least. Heimerdinger teaches an inordinate amount of sections, judging from the plethora of people Viktor must dodge in order to arrive at his assigned table. He sets up his presentation, which does not take him very long, and looks around to see what he typically sees in Piltover.

Waste.

The other research projects are… Viktor cannot tell what they are. They are loud and flashy. They clack and whirr. Some of them play music, others destroy little block towers. Others still build them up.

Viktor cannot see a practical use for any of them. They are toys.

There was a time when he built toys. It was a time before he was confronted with the true magnitude of his own limitations - now that he is aware, constantly, he wonders how that was ever the case - and the cruelty some of humanity was capable of. He built toys for nothing other than the fact that he could, that it was fun to put parts together and have them work, that success delighted him.

But things change. Viktor grew up. He lost the time for toys, lost the drive for anything impractical. He became devoted to what mattered: survival and altruism. If it was not necessary, if it did not help, then he could not afford the waste.

The other university students, some who have surely known hardship but clearly never learned to starve, can. They build toys, contraptions that buzz and whirr and shine to the dazzlement of their audiences, who gather around their presentations to ooh and ahh over them.

No such audience gathers near Viktor. They pass him by curiously, eyeing him as the oddity and paying no attention to his work. They whisper behind their hands, and while the other voices in the room and the clack of the other frivolous machines drown them out, they are obviously talking about him.

City of Progress, and yet they refuse to see beyond appearances.

The rage bubbles up in Viktor, but he swallows it down. He smiles politely at passersby and converses pleasantly with those few who ask about his project. He bites his tongue when their gazes wander to the spectacles he is surrounded by. He resists the urge to sit on the edge of the table.

They did not give him a chair. Good that today he experienced next to no pain.

Toward the end of the three hours, Heimerdinger arrives at his table.

He only examines the presentation curiously. He does not comment. He simply writes on his notepad and offers a kind smile. Then he moves on to the next table, where he enthusiastically greets a student who made a glittering music box.

Viktor sees his grade during the next class. Stellar marks, but no comments. Satisfactory, but unremarkable.

The semester ends, and his other classes return the same grades. Perfect, but nothing more to say.

Viktor does not like attention. He is used to lingering eyes on him, whispered remarks as he passes by. He has been examined by doctors and openly judged in public. If he could exist without that clear prying that so many seem entitled to, he would. But with how he is built (wrong, he is built wrong, there is no amount of sickly sweet sugarcoating for it) that will never be a possibility.

But he wants his work to have attention. To be worth something. To be discussed. He wants to be known as an inventor, not a cripple.

So, as he spends the winter holidays between semesters fixing the subpar heating in his dormitory because he could not afford to go home, he resolves to be done keeping his head down. To cut the tightrope. To fly instead of jump.

If they are going to stare, he will meet their eyes. If they are going to whisper, he will answer. If they are going to make him a spectacle, he will construct a spectacle instead.

There is only the work. And he will outwork them.

Read the other part here. And another part here. And even more here. And even even more here. And here.

#ria writes #arcane #arcane fic #viktor #viktor arcane #heimerdinger #heimerdinger arcane #piltover and zaun #arcane piltover #i still don't know how to tag for this fandom #studying the blorbo like a bug

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 5 months ago

Text

One bed -Oneshot

Sorry this took a bit, anon. Happy belated birthday!

Word count: 3286

Part 2

“Well, this all went to shit fast,” Sam grumbled, looking around at the carnage and destruction around them.

“Everything’s down,” Steve said, even pulling out his phone and checking. “No reception. Comms are out.”

Y/N sighed heavily, her body feeling exhausted. She was only there as a healer, and she had extended herself beyond what her abilities normally could do to not only heal the Avengers she accompanied on this mission, but the civilians who had been in harm’s way during the fight. “So what’s the plan?” she asked, leaning against a fallen wall, her eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky looked at her with a worried expression. “We need to rest,” he said with finality. “Are there any safe houses nearby?”

“Yeah, about a mile that way,” Sam said, pulling up some specs from the arm computer portion of his suit.

“Alright, well Sam, you fly out ahead of us and make sure it’s all clear,” Steve said, taking charge of the situation. “We’ll hot-wire one of these cars and meet you out there.”

Sam nodded and lifted off with his wings while Bucky approached Y/N. “Come on, babes,” he said quietly, pulling her up off the wall with an arm around her shoulders.

“Mmh,” she groaned unhappily, her eyes staying shut. “I just wanna sleep.”

“I know, but not here,” he said placatingly. “We’re not far from a bed.”

Steve was looking for a car that wasn’t destroyed, finally finding one a ways off and hot wiring it until the engine came to life. He unlocked the doors as Bucky walked up with Y/N, guiding her with his arm around her shoulders and his metal hand holding her left arm. He opened the door to the back seat and helped load her in, where she immediately laid down, before getting in the passenger seat in the front, then they took off down the road.

A few minutes later they pulled up to the safe house once Sam gave the all clear, and once Bucky got out he opened the back door. Y/N was almost asleep, and he grimaced as he tapped her leg. “Y/N, we’re here,” he said quietly.

She squirmed and pried her eyes open to look at him. “W-what?” she muttered. He smiled and started to pull her out by her legs. She squealed as he manhandled her until he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Barnes you little shit,” she groaned again, having no energy to fight him off.

He swatted the back of her thigh before climbing the stairs to the porch and entering the house. Sam was waiting for them inside, taking off his suit. “Slight issue,” he said. “There’s only two rooms, and each room only has one bed.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve sighed in annoyance. “Okay,” Steve said. “Who’s sleeping with who?”

“I call Y/N!”

Both Sam and Bucky said at the same time, then glared at each other. “Oh my god,” Y/N giggled, still hanging on Bucky’s shoulder. “I feel so special.”

“Come on, man, I don’t wanna sleep next to a dude,” Sam said. “No offense to either of you, I just don’t.”

“And you think I do?” Bucky asked.

“You two know each other and have 100% slept in the same bed before,” Sam said, glancing at him and Steve.

Steve chuckled and Bucky scoffed. “So?”

“Okay, let’s all just be adults and pretend like us three,” Steve said, gesturing to himself, Sam and Bucky, “are proper gentlemen. Y/N?” he called out to her, looking around Bucky’s back at her. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. “Who do you wanna sleep with?” he asked.

Y/N giggled again. “I think all three of you should share a bed.”

Steve laughed, Sam snorted and Bucky smirked before tickling the back of her thigh, making her squeal again. “Not an option babes,” he said, his face turning towards her hip. “Come on, don’t you wanna cuddle like during our movie nights?” he asked suggestively.

“I pick Bucky,” she said immediately.

Sam groaned and Bucky pumped his fist in triumph. “No fair,” Sam said, turning to Steve. “You sleep on the couch.”

“You sleep on the couch!” Steve retorted, following Sam to the back bedroom.

Bucky laughed and carried Y/N to the second bedroom. He walked to the bed and carefully pulled her off his shoulder, then dropped her on it unceremoniously. Y/N huffed and then giggled again as she curled up on top of the blankets. “Nuh-uh, Y/N, you gotta go clean up first,” Bucky said.

“But I’m so tired,” Y/N whined. “Just let me sleep.”

“I know you need to recharge, but you’re not sleeping next to me covered in dirt,” Bucky said, pulling her by the ankle until she was forced to sit up before falling off the bed. He helped her stand then led her to the bathroom, pushing her inside. “Go shower and get ready for bed, I’ll clean up after you, then we can cuddle and pass out.”

She whined again but nodded. “Fine,” she breathed. “I won't take long.” Bucky gave her a quick smile before she closed the door and sighed heavily. Her heart had leapt at the chance to sleep next to Bucky. There had been a few times during their movie nights that they had inadvertently snuggled close to each other, and she had fallen asleep with her cheek on his chest, the thumping of his heart and the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling her into a deep sleep. Y/N felt like she was moving at a snail-like pace as she took a shower, fished out a toothbrush and toothpaste from under the sink, then slipped her underwear and tank top back on she had been wearing under her suit. She suddenly realized she had no other bottoms and grimaced as she opened the door and peeked out.

Bucky was sitting against the headboard, his eyes closed and his hands folded on his stomach. “Hey Buck?” she called out. He opened one eye and looked at her. “Um…I don’t have any bottoms so…look away,” she said, keeping her lower half hidden behind the door.

He chuckled and closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said simply.

Y/N quickly walked to the bed and got under the covers, settling herself in before looking up at him. “Okay we’re good,” she said quietly.

Bucky smirked and opened his eyes, looking down at her. “I’ll go shower then we can cuddle,” he said, looking tired.

“Alright,” she yawned. By the time she heard the shower turn on her eyelids were already closed, her breathing evening out, and the day’s exhaustion caught up to her. She was asleep when she was awoken by a dip in the bed. She hummed and felt arms wrap around her waist from behind.

“Go back to sleep, babes,” Bucky’s voice mumbled near her ear.

Y/N turned in his arms to face him, nuzzling her face against his chest, her eyes still closed. Her arm wrapped around his back and her legs tangled with his legs, then once she was comfortable she sighed heavily and started to doze off again. On the edges of consciousness she could have sworn she felt lips pressed against her forehead.

***

The next morning she was woken up by the sound of a click. She stirred and heard the shuffling of feet and a deep, suppressed giggle before the door closed quietly. She sighed and tried to go back to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t quiet back down. Y/N was suddenly aware that the pillow she was holding was actually a body she was wrapped around. Her mind struggled to recall what had happened the night before as she slowly opened her eyes. Her cheek was squished against a pillow but her chin was resting on some hair at the top of a head, her arms wrapped around the person’s head and shoulders, and her right leg hiked up over their waist. She looked down and saw Bucky’s mop of dark brown hair, his metal arm heavy across her waist and both of his hands tucked under her tank top, his right one in front just under her breast and the left metal one resting on her back, firmly keeping her close to him. His face was tucked into the swell of her breasts and almost in between them, like he’d fallen asleep while nuzzling them. His legs were tangled with her free leg, and during the night the comforter had shifted down to only cover from just under her butt and down. The clicking sound she heard must have been a camera. She rolled her eyes at the idea of Sam and Steve coming in and taking the picture of them asleep together. As much as it was a compromising position to be caught in, she was warm and comfortable, so couldn’t find it in herself to care what anybody else thought.

Y/N started running her fingers through his hair slowly, holding him close as she closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the moment. They had fallen asleep together before during cuddle nights and once or twice when she had gotten to his room during a particularly bad nightmare. But never anything like this. As much as she liked Bucky as much more than a friend, she didn’t feel like it was her place to try to start anything romantic with him as he tried to get used to the 21st century. She could have sworn that every once in a while the teasing banter became flirty, and that sometimes he would give her a look that made her wonder if he maybe felt the same way, but couldn’t be certain and she wasn’t willing to ruin the friendship.

She felt the need to stretch suddenly, so she carefully started to move her arms and legs, arching her back to help relieve the ache in her muscles from being in one position for so long. As her leg over his hip moved down to straighten out, Bucky stirred and his metal hand at her back shifted down over her ass, her hip, her thigh until his hand hooked beneath her knee and hiked her leg back up over his hip. He hummed unhappily at her movement as his metal hand kept her leg there, kneading back up her leg until he cupped her ass cheek.

“No,” he grumbled against her chest.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at him, her blood pumping fast at the way he was touching her. “Sorry babes,” she whispered. “Had to stretch. Go back to sleep.”

Bucky nuzzled her breasts, his metal hand squeezing her ass as his flesh hand under her shirt moved up slightly so he was almost touching the underside of her left breast. “Too late, I’m up,” he yawned. “God, you feel good.”

Y/N blushed at his words. Maybe he wasn’t fully awake yet, not understanding what he was saying or doing. She tried to keep breathing normally as she ran her fingers through his hair again, scratching his scalp with her nails like she did to calm him from bad nightmares. He moaned into her chest, his hold on her tightening. She felt his lips press a kiss to the swell of her breast, which made her gasp. He didn’t stop there, his lips kissing with a featherlight caress over the swell of both breasts then up her sternum to her throat, where he tucked his face under her jaw. His kisses became heavier, his mouth opening more until he licked the spot under her jaw near her ear. Y/N shivered at the feeling, and Bucky shifted himself enough to kiss up over her jaw to her cheek. His movement pushed his hips more in between her legs, and she could feel the hard outline of his cock pressing up against her, pulling another gasp from her lips.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, his kisses moving to her ear.

“Y-yes,” she whispered back.

He smiled against her skin and nibbled at her earlobe before kissing back toward her lips. He kissed near the side of her mouth then pulled back to look at her. “I want you,” he said quietly. “I like you, as so much more than a friend.”

The sound of the blood rushing in her ears and her heart wildly thumping almost made her dizzy at his confession. He liked her back. He wanted her, too. “I like you, too, Bucky,” she said. “I want you.”

His signature smirk lit up his face and he nuzzled her nose. “Yeah?” he asked teasingly, his metal hand reaching over her ass to the waistband of her panties, his fingers grasping it gingerly. “Can I have you, babes? Right now?”

“Well, I want to but…” Y/N knew that the other two were just outside, waiting for them to wake up. A flare of anxiety and embarrassment arose in her chest as she started to glance at the door. Bucky quickly blocked her gaze with his face, making her only look at him.

“Fuck them,” he murmured. “I want to feel you. Right here. Right now.”

Y/N took a deep breath then smiled. “Okay,” she agreed.

Bucky smiled back at her, then finally leaned in and kissed her lips. Her reaction was immediate, kissing him back fervently as she looped her arms around his neck. Bucky quickly slid her panties down until she could kick them off, then rucked up her tank top to expose her breasts. His metal hand felt over her breasts before moving back down to hike her thigh up over his hip again and sneak his hand between her legs. As his fingers felt along her pussy lips she shuddered. It was all happening so fast, making her feel jittery, but at the same time the frenzied pace was making it all the more thrilling. She whined and moaned into his mouth as he worked her up below, his fingers getting progressively wet from her arousal as he moved his first two fingers in circles on her clit.

“B-Bucky,” she groaned against his lips as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.

“Ssh, babes,” he said. “Don’t want them to hear you getting finger-fucked, do you?”

The idea of getting caught was both thrilling and horribly embarrassing. She shook her head as his fingers suddenly plunged deep into her pussy, and she tensed up so as not to scream from the intense pleasure that shot through her getting filled with at least something to help with the building need that had her throbbing. His thumb kept the rhythm on her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her, and he moved his lips to her neck to suck at the skin for just a little while longer, then down her sternum to her breasts that he licked and sucked with hurried, heavy breaths through is nose.

His hips matched the pace of his fingers inside her, rutting up against her pussy, the outline of his cock in his boxers sliding along where his fingers entered her and up her buttcheeks. All the sensations were becoming too much, and she could feel herself start to shiver violently as the pressure inside the pit of her stomach raised higher and higher. Her breaths and whimpers became faster and more higher pitched, her hips rolling into his hand.

“That’s it, Y/N. Cum,” Bucky murmured against her nipple.

She stiffened, and with just a few more flicks of his thumb she was cumming. She shut her mouth, her lips pulled tight in between her teeth and she held her breath so as not to make a sound, but she couldn’t help the soft whine in the back of her throat. Her eyes were shut tight, and she could see fireworks behind her eyelids as she rode out her orgasm, her cum oozing onto his hand.

“Good girl,” Bucky said with a smile, pumping his fingers continuously inside her until she stopped tensing up. “So quiet for me. Though when we get home, you can show me all the pretty noises you make when I fuck you.”

“W-what?” she asked, her head still fuzzy. “Aren’t you gonna fuck me now?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, kissing her quickly before she could protest. “Just my fingers first, then later it’ll be my tongue,” he licked at her lips. “Then when we’re behind sound proof walls I’ll fuck your pretty, tasty pussy,” he said, bringing his wet metal fingers up to his face and sucking them clean for her to see. “Holy shit, you’re so sweet,” he said as he licked them off.

“But what about you?” Y/N asked, her hand moving down his front to the outline of his cock pushing against his boxers. Her fingers skimmed over him, feeling how hard he was through the thin fabric.

He hummed. “As much as I’d love you to jerk or suck me off, I think I’ll wait for this,” he said, his fingers moving back down to her pussy and tapping her clit. She gasped, the rough treatment sending a shot of pain and pleasure up her spine. He chuckled at her reaction.

“So mean,” Y/N squirmed. “Making me wait. I’m gonna be aching all day until someone comes to rescue us.”

Bucky smirked. “Good.”

***

“Y/N and Bucky sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G–”

“Shut it, Birdbrain,” Bucky grunted.

Sam and Steve snickered in the front seats of the smaller version of the Quinjet that had arrived to rescue them from the safe house. Y/N and Bucky sat in the rear seats, texting each other throughout the flight rather than having a verbal conversation that Steve especially would be able to hear. Bucky’s texts were getting progressively more sexual by the minute, and Y/N felt like she was going to implode. Bucky seemed to also be getting more sexually frustrated by the second as they still had another half an hour before they got home to the Avengers Tower, and it was showing in his impatience with Sam and Steve’s teasing.

Steve, with his super soldier hearing, had obviously heard something from them that morning before they left the house, and had made a sexual innuendo joke about them and called her “babes.” Bucky had turned to look at him sharply with a glare, confirming their suspicions and making them both laugh. Y/N was sure they’d never hear the end of it by the time they got home. But the only thing she could focus on at the moment was the pulsing need in between her legs.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat for the hundredth time, and Bucky looked over at her. He gave her a knowing smirk, his eyes roaming over her figure with a mischievous and hungry stare. Y/N glared at him then stuck her tongue out at him when he met her gaze again. He huffed a laugh then looked down at his phone, texting her something.

“Don’t worry babes. You can put that pretty tongue to use soon.”

Her eyes widened and she blushed when she looked at him. Bucky didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on his phone, waiting for a response. She inhaled deeply before typing back.

“Whatever gets you in me faster.”

His eyes widened that time and he shifted in his seat, his metal hand pushing down on his crotch. She smirked and looked out the window. Soon…

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #ask #request #anon ask #oneshot

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